


Delirium

by gatekat, Verilidaine



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Betrayal, Drugs, Execution, M/M, Murder, Slave coding, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verilidaine/pseuds/Verilidaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the long and messy path through Nova Prime's long and energon-soaked reign, an ancient servant takes the duties of his post a little too seriously for his own good.</p><p>Or the story of how Whiplash and Sucre became lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Selecting a Prime

**Author's Note:**

> Nova <http://tfwiki.net/wiki/File:Novaprime.jpg>

Whiplash tucked himself into the decorative ceiling above the Hall of Senators. He wasn't technically supposed to be here, at least by the rules of his last Prime, but with Vartis deactivated, there was nothing to stop him. He didn't answer to Senators. At the moment he answered to no one, and it hurt. Three Primes selected since the last that wasn't Forgotten. Guardian Prime had been amazing for Cybertron and to serve. His designation was as good as they came and Whiplash had to forcefully still his frame to silence the warm hum thinking of the last true Prime generated in him.

There was something intensely blissful about serving a good Prime and it had been far too long. Yes, he served and cared for every Matrix Bearer, but his spark knew the difference between one who was truly connected to Primus and one who simply held the Matrix. He could only hope that the next one finally be the one he was waiting for. Just because the Senators controlled access did not mean that a true Prime could not be their selection.

Of course, _every_ Prime could the a true envoy of Primus if the Senators would only allow it. They held possession of the Matrix after the Prime's deactivation, keeping it closed away when it _should_ have been allowed to tour Cybertron to choose its next bearer. Between Primes, Whiplash was free to hate the Senators with his entire spark and even plot against them to free the Matrix for a proper tour rather than the fake one a duplicate went on. He hadn't managed it this time, but he now had some solid ideas for the next one. It was hard to plan while there was a living Prime, because it meant expecting their deactivation, which ran counter to a great deal of his core coding. Bits and pieces came together between Primes, when he could think more freely.

Below him the Committee of the Prime was in full debate. Whiplash wanted a Prime that was bonded to the Matrix. They wanted one they could control, but still had enough charisma and ambition to make a good figurehead in public. No matter what they did, the Prime did have significant power simply by virtue of his status among the people, but more because he was the High Priest of Cybertron and a real Prime or not, the priesthood usually backed him. Not even the Senate was willing to cross the priesthood lightly.

It seemed like the new Prime would be chosen today, finally. Metacycles of taking applications from hopeful nobles, royals, and Senators followed by intense investigation and debate had finally dwindled to eight choices. A picture of each was displayed on the table. Whiplash scowled as the first one turned off and set aside was his first choice.

"Too charitable," was the explanation that was answered by humming agreement. A charitable Prime might actually _care_ about the people and put their needs over his cabinet's. Such a Prime might actually save Cybertron from the building storm.

Whiplash's second choice was predictably next to be rejected. "Too ambitious, too difficult to control."

His third choice--one he was surprised had even made it this far, the second creation of a lower noble family--was the next to go, for the reason that he might still want to have creations, and the implications of a Prime's creations and what they would mean for succession would be too tricky. He was a caring creature who may very well have nurtured Cybertron while equipping it for the future.

Beyond those three, Whiplash didn't have any preferences. It all came down to connections now. Connections and how well they could be controlled. 

It was joors of listening to self-serving rants, assessments and demands as they narrowed it down to one. No one on the committee wanted the fate of the last three; those who selected an uncontrollable Prime were punished by their peers. In the end it was a convoy class mech of red and orange on a black background from the Royal House of Kaon. Strong willed and fierce as suited his House and city, but with the weaknesses of the same for carnal pleasures and power over individuals more than land or cities. As a fifth creation he had shown no desire for bonding or creations. He was a bit more than the committee was usually willing to take on, but they did.

Whiplash could only hope that this one lasted longer than his close predecessors. He'd been commissioned to lock onto one Prime and serve that mecha with his whole self; moving from Prime to Prime so quickly was intensely stressful. It was only how perfectly his spark resonated with his function that allowed him to continue. It helped that since his promotion to commander of Imperial Special Operations he had continued what his mentor had begun and surrounded himself with mecha that were also as perfect for their function as he was. He didn't care if it was sparked or kindled, nor what it had been before he got it or how he got it. Once a being was under his command he focused on matching spark and coding to function. Then the best of those became his elite officers.

Below they were beginning to debate on the designation this Prime would have.

The mech's designation was Aster, certainly not suitable for a Prime. The Senate would likely come up with something majestic sounding, as was their tendency. It helped the people to accept their new Prime.

Whiplash knew it when he heard it, even before the final decision had been made.

_Nova._

He shivered despite himself. He would have a new Prime, finally. After the recent failures this selection process had taken longer than normal.

_Finally._

* * *

The moment Nova Prime walked out onto the platform, after the Senate-approved team had finished upgrading his frame and all the software had been installed, the crowds began to cheer. Whiplash lingered above, watching for any threats to his new Prime. He couldn't resist gazing as everything within him locked onto this mech. He'd watched the insertion of the Matrix himself, and knew that this was a true Matrix Bearer.

Nova looked dazed, tired, as one should after the Prime upgrades. The people would be lead to believe the Matrix had selected this one. They would come to love him soon, if he lasted long enough.

Whiplash loved him already. No matter how he'd come to be, he was here now.

The public appearance didn't last long before Nova was ushered inside and shown to his massive quarters. Whiplash followed, along with many of his agents. On this duty assignment or not, all who had ISO coding from creation were fixated on protecting, providing for and helping this being that was their Prime. They watched, hidden, as Nova Prime was given fuel and to Whiplash's right someone couldn't quite silence their hiss that one of them wasn't testing it first. Then the giant was urged to rest.

"Set up perimeter," Whiplash murmured with a small smile, a feeling of peace settling over him as Nova Prime laid down and relaxed. _Purpose_ felt good. "I'll make the introductions." 

Hums and signals of understanding responded as the gathering broke up with a single purpose: ensure their Prime booted up again.

It was to Whiplash, their commander and one of the oldest among them that the honor of being the last line of defense went. Only he would be visible as he watched and waited as the black and white convoy class mech rested himself out.

He stayed all night, curled in a chair with armrests almost higher than his helm, just watching his Prime and basking. No one could know what this Prime would bring, or how he would turn out, but he was here now, and Whiplash could indulge himself a little. He trusted his agents to keep them safe.

When Nova began to boot, Whiplash got himself up to the back of the chair to crouch and watch, putting himself in a place that would be noticed quickly given how the new Prime's optics were facing as they warmed slowly to rich, warm blue glow. 

"Who are you?" the new Prime asked with the innocent calmness that all new Primes had.

"I'm Whiplash," he straightened and bowed to the new Prime. "I am the Commander of Imperial Special Operations, the Left Hand of the Prime, and The Prime's Assassin. I'm here to serve you in whatever way you need."

Nova Prime regarded the small matte black mech for a long klik as he maneuvered his large frame to sit upright and settled the wing-like kibble he wasn't used to yet. "What are the top issues, in a breem or less."

"Socially, the most poor in the largest cities do not always have access to fuel as funds for the public have dwindled with the stabilizing of the economy," Whiplash began, pleased with the response. "The extreme excesses of previous centuries are leveling off as the new normal and so mecha are less willing to donate in general. The price of goods has risen in response to the wealth which is making former excess less so. Politically, demands for treaties at a rate that might be faster than is wise are creating rifts between parties, and that needs to be resolved before the bickering creates a shutdown. Lesser issues to be addressed, the people of Cybertron are having trouble believing in the strength of a Prime and don't feel hopeful. A population losing its hope will have reduced productivity. This will only hasten the eventual decline of the economy, but we are too close to the recent boom for many to realize that as a possibility." 

"Do the poor not work?" Nova asked as he worked through the information and prodded for more where he wished it.

"Most do," Whiplash said. "The rising cost of energon has taken regular fuel from some of their budgets. Some are old, or damaged, or trying to manage glitches that make working long enough difficult. It is difficult for any society as large as ours to prevent the bottom portion of income from slipping too low." 

Nova rumbled a sort of hum as he thought over that. "Of those who work, there should be no excuse not to be paid enough for the basics. Surely charity would cover the rest." Despite it being a statement, there was a hint of a question there from a mech still trying to integrate massive databanks and hazy memories of before the rebuild.

"A good question to bring before your Senate, my Prime," Whiplash said. 

Nova nodded and stood with the care of one still adjusting to a noticeably different frame. While he had the advantage of having been a convoy class before, he was still an extra two helms taller and with kibble making him visually much more impressive but also much wider and with a different center of balance. "Washrack."

"You must be sore," Whiplash said, and jumped down from his perch. "There's a hot oil soak large enough for you, this way." He gestured for Nova to follow him. "Does company appeal to you?" he asked. "Or solitude?"

"Company that knows how to ease the ache," Nova answered easily enough. 

Yes, command came readily to this Prime, no surprise given he'd been raised a royal. Even if he didn't recall much of that existence, it still influenced him.

"You will have your pick of many of the finest courtesans on Cybertron," Whiplash said. "I personally approve every servant and courtesan who might ever serve you. I will summon some of the courtesans trained in massage," he said, though there was always the harmonic of a question if the Prime would prefer something else. 

"Yes," Nova agreed readily as the scent of hot oil snagged the attention of his aching frame. 

The deep moan of pleasured relief made Whiplash tingle as he made good his offer and moved to put himself both in clear view of the Prime once those wonderful blue optics lit again and gave him a clear line of sight to the doors, both primary and servant.

"Where do you fall in the chain of command?" Nova asked without turning his optics on. Already his harmonics were softer, more steady, for the lower discomfort.

"If you are taken out, command of the military first goes to your appointed Lord of Arma, and if he is taken out, to me," Whiplash said as three elegant courtesans entered with a servant carrying their supplies. All were still of the type favored by Guardian Prime because there hadn't been time up change anything in those chaotic vorns of rapid turnover. There were breems of near-silence while they worked the new Prime's frame to ease his discomfort.

Every sound and shift that indicated their efforts worked made all four sparked mecha there warm in a way few other things could. They were making their master happy, making him feel better, and there was little better for their kind. They were still working when Nova drifted off and made no effort to stop just because of it.

"Good work," Whiplash told the courtesans with a small smile. "See to any of his needs and desires, he faces the Senate tomorrow and he should be well rested."

The courtesans all hummed their understanding and Whiplash showed himself out to check with the perimeter guard.

* * *

Whiplash didn't like to leave new Primes alone. For one, it was hard to predict when glitches with all the upgrades might occur and he wanted to be there as a first responder. For another, it was a time of high assassination risk. That risk came and went in waves, easily tracked by the attempts stopped, and invariably the first few decaorns were scattered with them.

He liked the chairs that were large enough to be a berth for him. Comfortable, without making the Prime feel intruded upon. Of course they could always order him to leave, and he took comfort in the fact that Nova had been a royal before and felt comfortable telling those around him what he wanted them to do. He never had to feel like he was an unwanted visitor. Indeed, the Prime had made it clear in their interactions that Whiplash was generally valued even after Nova had been introduced to his other support cabinet.

Whiplash booted after a light recharge cycle to check on his Prime. Nova seemed to be booting up so Whiplash stretched and sat up. "Good morning, my Prime," he said, so Nova knew he was there. 

"Good morning, Whiplash," Nova rumbled with a stretch and hungry look towards the slender minibot. "Come here."

Whiplash obeyed, stretching as he rose up and slipped off the chair. "Nova?" he questioned as he climbed onto the berth, and once there he could teek a faint morning arousal in the Prime's field. 

"You did say you are here to serve me," Nova rumbled as he guided the much smaller much down and to his back so they faced. Nova's half-hard spike was on display. It was a piece of equipment that had already seen use almost every orn and Whiplash knew lust every time he saw it pleasured by another. "You must be amazingly tight."

Whiplash shivered and nodded. "Former Primes have enjoyed that about me," he said, and his gaze went between Nova's optics and his spike. "May I?" he questioned, reaching down but not touching. 

"Yes," Nova moaned at the first stroke. "Then I was correct that I saw _want_ in you when I indulged with others."

"I was commissioned to serve the Prime," Whiplash murmured, and he couldn't resist squirming down a little so he could run his glossa along the tip. "In every way." He stroked the length again and felt lubricant start to leak from him as he took the exquisitely crafted tip into his mouth. The approval radiating out from the giant above him made him giddy as he licked and sucked until he felt the spike click into full extension, ready to spread him wide.

"Need prep?" Nova groaned as he rocked into the teasing pleasure.

"No, my Prime," Whiplash said honestly, and a deep wave of reverence went through his field. He pressed one more lingering kiss to the head of the spike before moving back to where Nova would be able to penetrate him. "I'll always be ready for you." 

Above him the giant shivered and wrapped one huge hand around Whiplash's waist to help guide himself against the quivering opening that felt too small. Still Nova trusted this mech not to lie to him and rolled his hips forward with a smooth, slow thrust that whited out both their optics.

Whiplash grabbed at the armor above him, holding tightly as another thrust made him gasp. "My Prime," he groaned as he was filled again, thighs quivering around the massive bulk between them. It felt impossibly good. The physical was amazing, a spike that big touched off every sensor inside him, but it was the emotional, the coding that made it truly amazing. With the next thrust Whiplash was almost oblivious to his frame. The surging pleasure-approval from _his Prime_ above him was all he could focus on. Nothing in existence could match making his Prime teek like that. It didn't matter how, only that he managed it.

This was bliss on a truly exquisite level.

It really didn't take long before the Prime was hunched over him, holding him still as he grunted quietly, working off the morning arousal. It pressed the minibot into the padding, strength and weight behind each thrust, driving him back, with weight that could crush him if it was put towards such use. Yet even when the Prime arched even more fully, the full force of his frame directed at burying his spike as deeply as possible into his berthmate did he cause damage. The rush of transfluid flooded Whiplash and drove him to a white-out keening overload of his own.

The overload went spark-deep, shuddering through him as the Prime took his pleasure inside his frame. Giving his full self over to the Prime, every part of his frame, was the highest form of ecstasy he'd ever known, and suspected he ever would.

Nova relaxed over him after another klik, and Whiplash held back the whine of disappointment, masking it with a low moan.

"Just what I needed," Nova rumbled his satisfaction as he withdrew with enough care not to cause any additional damage. He smoothly shifted to his pedes on the ground and stretched before walking to the washrack for his morning shower.

"My honor, my Prime," Whiplash purred, stretching out himself and spending a few moments basking in the feeling of being full with the Prime's transfluid. He'd get up and do rounds in a few kliks, get the more serious tears to his valve repaired, then see to the day's duties ... but he was starting to have real hope for Nova and that just made this moment all the better. 

* * *

"Very good," Nova said, swiping past the last of the applicants to the Prime's household. They'd reviewed the finalists for the service department and called their top selections in for more intensive interviews. "Now, one more thing. I need a worthy combat instructor." 

Lider jerked sharply with optics bright with shock. "But my Lord Prime, why?"

Nova scowled at him, but the Lord of Arma didn't back down.

"A good war-leader must know what he is asking of his troops and how to lead from the front," Nova Prime spelled it out more clearly.

"My Prime, we can find you a physical coach, but there is no need for you to engage in combat training," Lider said. "You have a personal guard, you shouldn't see real combat."

"How can an army trust a commander unwilling to fight with them?" Nova asked with a mixture of offense and bewilderment. He caught a barely-there look-teek from Whiplash and huffed. "Even if I do not lead in battle, I would know how to defend myself and those I protect."

Lider huffed right back. "I suppose we could find something for you," he said. "Let me put together a panel of approved choices and you can decide which you prefer."

"Thank you," Nova said, and waved his hand to dismiss the gathering. When all were gone but the black minibot that never seemed to leave, he focused on Whiplash. "Why don't Primes lead battles?"

"It's dangerous," Whiplash said. "It's been a long time since a Prime has wanted to put himself in danger for the sake of the troops. Our world is more settled. Honestly, it probably wouldn't be a bad thing for those fighting to expand the realm to see you out there doing the same thing as them." 

"It's where a leader belongs. If I don't believe in a campaign enough to lead it, it is a campaign that shouldn't be done," Nova said what was in his spark. "Even if I must learn to fight in this frame outside of the military's sight for a time. I will study with whoever Lider brings me. I want your mecha to find one to teach me to _fight_ as a warrior should."

"We will find someone suitable," Whiplash said with a small smile, approval for his Prime welling in his spark. "You can win them over to your side with time; you have excellent natural eloquence. That goes a long way in your circles." 

Nova hummed and tilted his helm, silent for a few moments as he thought. "Yes, I had noticed that. I remember my creators and eldest sister rallying the masses with speeches, but why do those with an education care?" Nova asked things he dared speak of with very few. From the moment he'd booted in his first existence he'd understood that weakness, a lack of knowledge, could only be shown to very select mecha. The Prime upgrades had only honed already well-trained senses in detecting who was and was not safe to be vulnerable around.

"Why do they care about eloquence and a good speech?" Whiplash clarified, and Nova nodded. "It means a lot to be able to argue your way of thinking in an elegant fashion," the minibot said. "It shows you've put thought into it and that you're intelligent enough to express that thought. They care about that. And you should never underestimate the power of pretty words, whether or not there is intelligence behind them." 

"Then I should master that as well, for when I need to make a point, or avoid showing ignorance," Nova said. He picked up a datapad showing all the new educators that had been hired to his staff, specialists that covered everything from the proper speech rhythms of minor nobles to how a Prime should decorate his frame. "What of these other instructors? How can I be brought online as a Prime knowing so much, and yet having so much to learn?"

"Some information is not permanent enough to be useful passing on," Whiplash explained. "The designations of instructions will not change. Some is not deemed worthy enough, I suppose. What the Matrix chooses to pass on and what it doesn't isn't under anyone's control. The software upgrades are mech-made." 

Nova hummed again, not really satisfied but willing to accept that it was the best to be had. "What are the best lessons you had in oratory?"

"Timbre," Whiplash said easily. "You can say anything with the right harmonics and timbre and have people cheering for you." 

Nova dimmed his optics as he pulled up the best resolution file he had of one of his carrier's speeches. With the harmonics firmly in mind he began the speech he remembered, working every verbal angle he could and using Whiplash's response as a gauge on success.

"You have a talent for it," Whiplash purred when he stopped and looked over questioningly. The minibot was on the edge of his seat, every part of him focused on Nova. A Prime's voice was always captivating, but this Prime drew Whiplash like none since Guardian had. His voice was made to be listened to, and the things he said all had such wonderful wonderful implications for the future of Cybertron. Whiplash couldn't turn away when Nova spoke, even when it wasn't the Prime's own words. 

"That will make learning to exploit it easier," Nova said. 

"The software upgrades will also help," Whiplash said. "But nothing so much as the natural talent. You will have a captive audience, my Lord Prime." 

Nova gifted Whiplash with a smile before focusing back on his upcoming lessons. 

* * *

Whiplash's thoughts wandered about, never settling in any one place but always remaining on the same theme: Nova.

It was difficult at times to work out how he really felt about any particular Prime, but there was something about Nova that _drew_ him. Nova brought hope for Cybertron. Not many Primes did that, at least not to Whiplash.

"Cybertron to ISO," someone chimed, trying not to giggle and failing miserably.

Whiplash's optics focused and he realized he was looking directly at a wall, just to the side of one of his smirking officers. He turned his helm to find the giggler and gave him a long, silent stare that barely dampened the merriment around him. "Something amusing you?"

"You spacing off like that," the guilty mech was still grinning. "You're helm over pedes."

Whiplash cycled his visor and checked his chronometer, finding it several kliks ahead of where he would have expected it to be. "I am not," he said. 

"Aw, come on, who is it?" another officer trilled giddily. "You know we're going to find out."

Whiplash huffed. "If you _must_ know, I'm considering our Prime. He shows promise."

That stilled the gathering briefly.

"So ... anything about him not in the reports?" Tartarus asked carefully. 

"No," Whiplash answered honestly. "Just a feeling." His spark flickered a little. Nova was being careful about what he said and did, but Whiplash could sense plans from their Prime. "I think he's going to be good for Cybertron."

"You'd know, if anyone," another officer gave him credit for his age and experience, a rarity in their world. "Protector or expansionist?"

"I think expansionist, but he seems to care for the mecha who will be affected," Whiplash said. "He's very thoughtful, and asks after the quality of life more than recent Primes have." 

"A good thing," someone said to general agreement.

Whiplash hummed in agreement, and couldn't stop the smile in response to the fluttering in his spark.

"Helm over pedes," his officer announced.

"Fine," Whiplash relented. "I am fond of him." 

"Fond," Tartarus smiled. "It's a good look on you."

"Let's just make sure it's a good look on Cybertron," Whiplash said gruffly. "Now are you all ready to stop fooling around and actually get some work done, or am I the only one focused here?"

Snickers and knowing smirks answered him and Whiplash huffed, but it was out of fondness for the team around him as they settled in to the strategy meeting.

* * *

"So Nova, is this the start of a trend?"

The question was friendly, the tone jovial, but it still made Whiplash focus from where he was hidden in the ceiling of the grand ballroom. Dazzling mecha milled below, each with their own unique energon blend, as the expansion of the Empire was celebrated for the fourth time since Nova had become Prime.

"Indeed," Nova replied with calm friendliness after a sip of his energon. "Every city that joins strengthens and enriches all of us."

"Everyone is so looking forward to to all the exotic travels," the same noble said. "I know I can't wait to experience the famed Polyhexian hospitality."

"Maybe you can get a small taste of it tonight," Nova's courtesan chuckled, gesturing around. "Every Polyhexian I've spoken with has been quite excited about their visit." 

"I will," the noble hummed. "What city is next?"

"I have not decided yet. Polyhex needs to settle into its place before attention is focused elsewhere," Nova explained smoothly.

"Of course," the noble said, and bowed slightly to the Prime. "My Prime," he said, to excuse himself, before continuing his way around the ballroom.

::It's good to not release too much information,:: Whiplash commed, pleased with the way Nova had handled the subtle prying. 

::Basic tactics. Never let the enemy know when or how you are coming,:: Nova replied with warmth in his harmonics for his basic reflexes being good ones. He moved slowly around the grand room, a space larger than many a complete palace, and enjoyed the feel of the two slightly smaller convoy class mechs that glided as gracefully with him as any courtesan. They were a clear contrast to the popular style of courtesan, the tall, slender model favored during the previous Prime. Whiplash expected it would change soon. No one wanted to copy what the Prime commissioned, and now that Nova had made his preferences clear, the royal court's style would be free to adjust.

::You're also good at spotting an enemy,:: Whiplash said with a smile that no one would see.

The reply was a pleased hum as the Prime's focus went to his current conversation. From Whiplash's viewpoint, it was even a subject that Nova was actually interested in. It was odd given his background, Kaon was not known for its charity, yet there was no question that Nova saw some importance in keeping the destitute fueled.

Whiplash's engines purred happily. Nova was obviously listening to the concerns of those most in need, and those carrying their message. He was allying with a new city-state, and improving them at the same time. Cybertron was strengthening with every vorn.

The party carried on for a long time, Whiplash never taking his focus off of Nova. He hated parties, no matter the reason. Too many threats to his Prime that could be hiding anywhere. His agents milled about in disguise, but that did little to soothe him.

::Standard, watch the blue and red racer, to your left,:: Whiplash instructed.

::Watching,:: Standard replied, and headed that way to strike up conversation.

Whiplash watched for a few more moments before turning his attention away. He'd rather be down there, but even he could acknowledge that his most useful place was to be up here, scanning the crowd and identifying potential threats. The obsessive code he'd been commissioned with made it easy for him to focus on the Prime and his safety for the orns that these affairs could last.

Of course, he'd _rather_ be perched on Nova's shoulder, but there was a limit to how useful he could be for security without breaking protocol and hindering the Prime's social and political efficacy. The Left Hand of the Prime was not meant to be seen or known, but to be a rumor, a shadow, something even royals and senators feared.

It ended in time without incident, and Whiplash moved smoothly along the shadows built into the ceiling just for him all the way to the Prime's Residence and slipped inside through a hatch that only opened for himself and three others. Below him Nova was in an amorous mood and Whiplash couldn't help but shiver.

He knew he wouldn't be welcome tonight, which was fine. The pleasurebot code that wound around his mission code was a bonus for the Primes, but not something that he needed in order to be fulfilled. As long as his Prime was healthy and happy, Whiplash was happy.

Plus, watching Nova with his courtesans was always fun. This Prime enjoyed wrestling and mock-fighting as foreplay and the courtesans created for him had the mass and coding to inflame Nova's desires into an inferno suited to his designation with it. It was something Whiplash always admired about the level of pleasurebot coding above his. They were simply magic to watch as they performed their function with such a different grace than their predecessors. 

When Nova finally pinned one against the wall and drove into him what could have been an act of abuse was an act of devotion and joy. Whiplash shivered with jealousy as Nova rammed into the willing frame. The second courtesan came up behind him and started to purr into the Prime's audial. Whatever she was saying was making him drive harder, faster. The Prime's frame jerked forward with a grunting roar that the pinned one answered. 

With the crackle of his overload only half dissipated Nova pulled out and turned on the second courtesan, grabbing her and trying to force her against the berth. She was better prepared for the turn-around than Nova was expecting--but then, his processors were being flooded with charge and still trying to reset, and she easily spun out of the grab and got her leg behind Nova's, pulling forward and taking his pedes out from under him. 

Despite the snarl of his engine as he leapt to his pedes all of them knew he wanted this kind of reaction. The more the struggle, the hotter he got and the more he enjoyed the final victory and claim. The truth was that Whiplash was also calmer leaving his Prime with these courtesans on guard than any in history. They were big, well armored, strong and could fight as well as any guard. Not that one would know it watching this one as Nova caught her upper arms and they began to wrestle in a form that was as much shoving match as skill.

Whiplash smiled. He liked watching Nova display his strength. He could accept being toppled by his courtesan and jump right back into it without feeling personally threatened. So many of the Primes before him would have ordered the courtesan's immediate dismissal for the act, even if they'd asked for it, but Nova was clear with them about what he wanted and time had proven him true to his word. It earned him loyalty that couldn't be coded in, the kind that came from the spark.

Just that thought sent a shiver of delighted pleasure through Whiplash as his loyalty to the Prime and his dedication to Cybertron lined up with a clean, clear purity that was a bliss like no other.

It was too early to tell, but Whiplash found himself really hoping that the politicians had finally stumbled across a true Prime, the spark of Primus himself made real on Cybertron. He was _aching_ for such a Prime, one truly accepted by the Matrix.

Maybe, finally, Nova would be a true Prime and lead their planet into glory. 


	2. Teaching a Prime

"Good, again."

Nova nodded and adjusted his grip on his broadsword. He settled back into the stance that his tutor had knocked him from and raised the weapon again. "Any advice?" 

"Patience and practice. Your basic form is good. You just need to ingrain it until you don't think about moving any more," the giant purple and silver triple changer said before watching the Prime move through the attack.

"I mean besides advice you've already given me," Nova said with a chuckle.

"Practice."

Nova smiled and rolled his optics. His instructor was gruff, blunt, and never very forthcoming. But he also trained the best warriors, so Nova could put up with it. He got more out of a joor with Titanium than he did from a metacycle with Steelback, the instructor officially training him, and even getting that had been a fight against his advisers. No one could apparently understand why a Prime who wanted to lead his troops would want to know how to fight. Steelback wasn't bad, at least. 

Slash, stab, rip sideways. Blunt, effective and just a bit showy. As someone who'd been raised watching the gladiators fighting in the arenas, Nova knew when he was seeing real strategy and when he was seeing something for show. This mech definitely had a foundation of arena fighting, but had tempered it a lot on the real battlefield.

Whiplash had eventually found him Titanium as someone who would really train him. Nova was grateful for it, especially the orns when the training left him aching and exhausted. He would need this stamina some orn.

Slash, stab, rip sideways. 

Slash, stab, rip sideways.

Slash, stab, rip sideways. 

Repeat the same motion until it came without thinking. Dull, repetitive, mindless work, but each time he moved on to a new set of moves there was a sense of accomplishment that little could match.

He loved a physical fight, even one as formulated as this.

"Again," Titanium told him after each round and Nova would nod and settle back into stance. Occasionally his instructor would make a small adjustment to his form, but for the most part he stood silently and watched. At times it made Nova impatient, but all he had to do was remind himself of why he was doing this. He would finally be a Prime to truly _lead_ his people.

"Good," Titanium told him, holding a hand up to stop him. "What were you thinking just now?"

"Of Cybertron, of planning to lead the planet," Nova said, vents panting as he gratefully stopped for a moment.

Titanium nodded. "You relaxed. You stopped focusing on your frame, and your form was perfect. Don't over think every move." 

"So I know it, just have to not think," Nova tried to work that into his processor with limited success. "Distraction can't be good."

"Once your frame remembers the motions, nothing will distract it. The key is not letting your processor distract your frame. Focusing on targets, dodging, attacking, it's all in the frame. The best report thinking almost nothing during a fight, just letting their frame use their senses to respond." Titanium gestured at him. "Again."

"Practice, practice, practice," Nova repeated the mantra.

"And don't over think it," Titanium said with a nod.

* * *

"I'd like to look into Tyger Pax's industry," Nova announced as the meeting opened. Around the table sat his closest advisers, friends, and staff. "I think we could be getting more from that district in terms of production, but it's just stalling out right now with no growth." 

Around the table there were several nods and District Chief Dust-Off pulled a datapad to bring the city's information in front of him. "The local managers seem to think it is a lack of skilled labor."

"Population that large?" Nova mused, rubbing his chin. "Do we have any income distributions for that city?"

Dust-Off sent the data he had to the main table display that showed it to each seat. "I find the homeless and unemployed to be unusually high. The numbers for the working poor are what I saw first, however. There seems to be a disconnect between what managers view as a living wage and the reality for many."

Nova nodded. "Suggestions?"

"Providing fuel through an Imperial source would be a good first step," Whiplash said. "You'd be surprised how many mecha will break away from a dull job if they know they won't have to worry about fuel. Mecha are more likely to risk housing, repair, stability ... just about anything other than fuel. Even if it means starting low, they're willing to work their way up, take the time needed to learn a trade. It would be a more gradual, natural way to increase wages without using force on the ruling class."

"Where would the funds for that come from?" Goldness rumbled. 

"A large portion could come from Tyger Pax. They pay enough into the general fund and support fund to cover a solid 65% of expected needs," Metric spoke up. "The remainder will need to come from the empire's civil rights fund."

"How much would that be?" Nova asked with a frown.

"It would be worth it, my Prime, no matter the cost," Whiplash said, before anyone could list figures that might scare Nova away from the idea.

"The cost _does_ matter," Dust-Off argued. "There must be some certainty of compensation for the Empire's contributions." 

"The compensation will come in the higher taxes we collect when the wages and employment improve in Tyger Pax," Whiplash responded. "If we do nothing the situation will only get worse."

"We could also stand to benefit from increased exports," Nova hummed. "Tyger Pax makes the finest alloys on the planet. Metric, draft up a summary of what we expect from Tyger Pax, along with our contributions. Whiplash, I trust you to see that it is being enforced properly."

"Yes, my Lord Prime," Whiplash did his best not to purr and no one else argued. Just because Nova was fairly mellow didn't mean one crossed him when he made a declaration. He could see the fight left in some of the advisers faces, but none of them spoke.

"Next issue?" Nova asked, looking around.

"My Prime, the steps taken in Tyger Pax may well benefit all of Imperial-aligned Cybertron," Whiplash said. 

"While I do not disagree, I am not convinced that the return is worth the price," Nova opened it to discussion. "Tyger Pax is in far more trouble than most cities."

"It is," Whiplash agreed. "Perhaps a smaller scale program could be looked into."

"How does that benefit Iacon?" Goldness asked, frowning.

"It benefits _Cybertron,_ " Whiplash corrected him. 

"If it works," Nova hummed thoughtfully. "Has this been done before?"

"Not on this scale, to my knowledge," Dust-Off said. "I think it's worth looking into, in time."

"Then if it works in Tyger Pax, the idea will be revisited for the empire," Nova decided. "If the benefits outweigh the costs, it will be implemented."

There were a nods and wing-flicks of acceptance at various levels around the table.

"Are there any updates on the military progress?" Nova opened the new subject.

"Lord Prime, if we have a moment, I'd also like to go over our military spending budget," Metric said, swiping a new set of numbers onto the individual stations. "It has been growing each vorn, far past what we've seen in the past." 

"Yes," Nova agreed as a way of stating he was aware of it. "There are cities that will not join us peacefully. Once Cybertron is united, there is the rest of our solar system, and beyond to address."

Whiplash couldn't stop the shiver and had to mute the purr. It earned him a few glances from those close enough to teek, but everyone here knew that he was intensely devoted to the Prime. Nova had visions of a _grand_ Cybertron that could expand into the universe. This was also the first some of the gathering had truly grasped just how grand and long-ranging this Prime's plans were.

"Has it grown to the point is may be a danger to other priorities?" Nova asked in the silence.

"No. Not yet," Metric managed to gather his wits to answer. "So long as our income continues to improve as it has been, the military budget is in line with that growth."

"Then that is the last I'd like to hear about the military budget, unless there is something critical or constructive to be said," Nova said firmly. "The R&D department alone is thriving with increased finances, and will be well equipped to provide new technology not just for military use, but civilian. We're funding the future of this planet." 

"What does it bring to civilian market, Lord Prime?" Goldness asked with carefully polite harmonics.

"Are any of you familiar with the traditional broadsword used by the Gladiators in Kaon?" Nova asked in turn.

Everyone nodded. Whiplash struggled not to chuckle.

"Then you've likely heard of the strength of the alloy it is made with," Nova continued. "The refinement and creation of that alloy is now a process used all over the planet, particularly in the construction of..." He looked around. "Anyone?"

"Mining equipment," Whiplash said.

"Of course you would know," Nova said with a smile for the ISO commander. He turned back to the rest. "That equipment has improved the lives of miners everywhere, and increased the output and availability of once-rare resources. I cannot tell you _what_ the current military development will bring the citizens, only that it _will._ "

Goldness hummed his thanks and looked significantly more interested.

"May we move on to the palace goods?" Metric asked politely and received a round of nods. He sent three designs for slender, relatively small mecha to the table. "These are the proposed designs for the new palace courtesans."

"New?" Nova questioned. "Didn't we just get new ones?"

"That was your personal order, my Lord Prime. These are for general use during galas and for visitors," Metric explained. "They should be significantly different from yours while still remaining aesthetically acceptable to you."

"Hmm." Nova looked at the designs. "I suppose the current design _is_ getting a bit worn out, it'll be a nice surprise for visitors to have something new around here. Make sure there are enough for an expected number of guests to have access to several, they're a bit on the small side."

"The up and coming trend, my Lord Prime," Metric said. "However you may alter them however you see fit prior to placing the order." 

Nova hummed thoughtfully. "No, I think I like this one for it," he selected a slender minibot frame. "Attractive enough."

"Your guests will enjoy them," Metric said happily. "I will place the order as soon as we're done."

Nova nodded. "Is there any other business or concerns to be addressed then?"

"Not unless you have any more to address, Your Grace," Dust-Off said.

Nova shook his helm and waved a hand to dismiss the group. "Whiplash, stay." 

"What's up, Prime?" Whiplash chirped cheerily as he hopped up on the table to be easier to speak with.

"Do you have any thoughts about everything we discussed that weren't addressed?" Nova asked seriously. 

"Not specifically, though I would encourage you to reward researchers who create profitable or socially valuable variants or uses for the military items they develop," he said warmly. "Possibly with a percentage of the profits, or a similar reward. Access to producing those things can be used to reward supporters, or if government facilities produce them to offset the cost of development and other projects. Just one item that becomes widely used can pay for decades of research across the board."

Nova nodded. "I will keep that in mind for the future," he said. "Thank you. I like to know that I'm not imagining things or just getting false feedback." He gestured to the screen. "What do you think of the new designs? Look a bit like you, actually."

"Yes," Whiplash traced a finger along the selected design. "It's nice to see it coming back into favor. It's been ages since I've looked particularly in style. Not that I was designed to be fashionable. Giving you honest feedback and accurate intel is part of my function, and it's a joy to have a Prime who listens and understands."

Nova chuckled. "I imagine you were designed to fit into places you wouldn't be expected."

"Something like," Whiplash answered with a grin that faded quickly. "Assuming no one attacks us, when do you plan to begin taking military action to bring cities to heel?" he asked seriously.

"If we plan well and the intel remains good, not until every peaceful alliance has been made. I'd like to have the most allies and advancements possible before going to war. Then strike fast and with overwhelming force," Nova answered just as seriously. "It's brutal, but the results are typically less damaging in the long run."

"I wish you had found your way to the Matrix long ago," Whiplash said.

"So do I," Nova said. "Cybertron could be better off by now. But it doesn't matter, we'll do the work, we'll unite our kind, we'll expand and grow stronger. Patience."

"Can't say I love patience, even if I'm good at it," Whiplash chuckled.

"Sometimes I feel the same way," Nova said, and regarded the minibot. "You know, the courtesan design does look an awful lot like you. I think I could go for a sample of sorts. It's been a long orn."

Whiplash purred with a flash of his visor and hard rev of his engine and shifted his sprawl to a much more seductive angle. "What would my Prime desire to sample?"

"I think I should get a good feel for the frame before my guests are enjoying them, so I can advise them," Nova hummed, and reached out, wrapping his hand around Whiplash's waist and pulling him closer. 

The slender minibot quivered in anticipation and opened every panel for his Prime, even his chest plates a crack, and spread his legs to put his already glistening slick valve on better display. "Yes, please. Love your spike, your cables, your spark."

"Oh?" Nova rumbled, and moved his hand down, shoving his fingers into Whiplash's valve and rumbled at the way they were taken in and tightened around. "Why don't you show me how much?" 

The matte black mech arched with a shamelessly pleasured cry and set his pedes on the table to give him a bit more bracing to drive himself against that hand. He imagined Nova's spike and quivered. He was ready for the much larger and longer intrusion, but by Primus any part of the Prime inside him was pure bliss.

"That's it," Nova praised. His free hand moved to support Whiplash's lower back. "Yes, I think my guests will enjoy this immensely. Don't stop, I want to see one of Primus's true servants take bliss in His presence." 

Whiplash keened at the order, the implications and desire in it tore through his processors and frame to wipe out anything that wasn't that glorious field inside him and the desire of his creator-god for him to enjoy it to the fullest. It was the best moment possible for Whiplash, to have his master, this frame linked so directly with Primus, to want him to feel so good.

Nova's chest split open and when the sparklight touched Whiplash's chamber, he was thrown into an overload so immediate and intense that every sense whited out, and nothing else existed but the touch of that light.

When Whiplash came to again, after long, dizzying, ecstatic kliks of overload, it was to the sensation of Nova's spike between his legs, filling him completely. 

"Ohh, my Prime," Whiplash moaned in blissful joy. "So good," he squeezed around the huge spike that now filled half his internal space. "So good."

"Yes you are, Whiplash," Nova rumbled, and gave a few more quick, uneven thrusts before overloading into the smaller frame and reveling in the incomparable joy of the one around him at it. Not even the courtesans reacted this way, and it was addictive in its own way to be worshiped with such joy and pleasure with no desire to use it for advancement.

* * *

"My Lord Prime." The customary greeting was accompanied by a bow as the lead developer for the presenting team stepped forward. "We are honored to have you here for this event."

"Let's just get on with it," Nova said, gesturing towards the protective shield that stood between the group and the field where the newest prototype was being set up. On his shoulder Whiplash was excited and eager, and the minibot's mood helped smooth and boost Nova's, though not to the point of true patience this orn. Around them stood generals and a few nobles who'd requested to be there. Legally, only one of them, the Lord of Arma, was required to be there.

The power pack was almost awkwardly large for the heavy mid-sized frame, but manageable. A larger frame would find it easy.

The developer bowed deeply to the Prime before gesturing out to the field. "As you can see, the weapon is portable by one individual, making it far superior to a field canon, which requires an entire team and has limited mobility. The portable sub-canon can be moved as necessary and boasts nearly 40% the power of a field cannon."

Nova nodded. "Good. How is the ease of use?"

"For the actual battlefield, it is little more than point and pull the trigger. Maintaining it and the power back does require significantly more training, though not as much as a cannon," he motioned to the mech holding the weapon to begin the demonstration.

The demonstrator signaled back an all-good and waved to the watching crowd, then gestured towards a small pack on the front of the shoulder attachments and mimicked pressing down on it.

"That triggers the power-up charge," the developer explained. "It takes about two kliks, but you can start the process before you need the weapon. The charge will hold for ten kliks before being cycled back into the power cell, in order to conserve resources in the field. This weapon was previously powered up and is ready to be fired, for your convenience."

Nova nodded in understanding and the demonstrator hefted up the large muzzle. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and squeezed. The weapon's long barrel glowed, then a bolt of energy surrounded by atmospheric plasma shot out and impacted a block of metal a hundred paces in front of the weapon. Liquid metal began to ooze down from the impact site and the metal began to glow.

"How many rounds can be fired per charge?" Nova rumbled eagerly.

"Only one, right now," the developer admitted. "It will need to recharge before it can be fired again."

"Do you have modifications for winged frames?" Whiplash asked. "That one doesn't look like it will wear very well." 

"Until we can improve the power supply it is too heavy for a standard Seeker frame, much less a standard Aerial or Rotor," the developer answered. "Larger flight frames could carry one, however, and it would not take much to reconfigure the parts for it."

"Wonderful," Nova said. "I'll expect one to be fitted for my use when the development phase is finished."

"For ... your use, my Prime?" the developer asked carefully.

"Of course," Nova said, and gestured to the field. "I'll have a much better idea after today of how it needs adjusting, so you may feel free to take any necessary notes while I try this one."

"Today?" The developer's voice was a faint squeak.

"Yes, I wish to fire it," Nova said, earning a variety of looks ranging from near-panic to distressed to bewildered.

"My Prime, this is only a prototype," the developer said. "We have a highly skilled and precisely trained demonstrator if you wish to see how it functions, but the weapon itself--"

"Is not ready to be fired by anyone else," the Lord of Arma Lider spelled it out with more willingness to challenge the Prime than a mere researcher. "It is very inappropriate for anyone not expendable to handle the weapon at this stage."

"Nonsense," Nova said. "If it is safe for demonstrator surely it will be safe for anyone being coached. Or are the lives of your demonstrators expendable?"

"More than most soldiers," Lider answered for the researcher. "Those working with prototypes are a specialty. They are deactivated and damaged far more often than most."

"Ah, so not part of the research team itself," Nova hummed, nodding. "I see. Still. In order to demonstrate to a crowd you must have some amount of confidence in your prototype, and I wish to fire it." 

"My Prime, Cybertron cannot afford to lose you if...." Whiplash went silent as he realized how ridiculous his argument was given this was to be the first battlefield Prime in generations. "At least leave it unattached so if something goes wrong you can drop it quickly."

Nova's smile was clear through his field, as was his pleasure with Whiplash. "I find that to be a perfectly reasonable solution," he said, clearly reprimanding everyone who hadn't even tried to think of a compromise for him. "You can take necessary adjustment notes later, the demonstrator will wear the pack, and I will fire the weapon." 

"Yes, my Lord Prime," the developer bowed slightly in submission and walked out with Nova personally to explain what was going on to the rather confused demonstrator while Whiplash maintained his perch, listened carefully and made note of how much closer the medic and fire suppression mecha had gotten. They were still out of what Whiplash calculated was the blast range given the power in the system, but much closer than before. He had no doubt that a medical transport large enough to haul the Prime to the nearest hospital was already on the way, just in case.

When all was settled and Nova had the weapon in his hands, Whiplash could teek the excitement there, but also the level calm of a natural warrior.

"If anything beeps, you need to run, Sir," the demonstrator repeated the most important point, then went on to the second most important. "Never point that end at anything you don't intend to destroy."

Nova nodded his understanding and took a moment to examine the weapon. It was small in his hands, but still usable. "A principle truth for all necessary violence," he mused. "But so much more important with such a powerful weapon."

"All charged, Sir," the demonstrator said, and gestured down the field. "Select any target you like. I find lining up my line of sight with the muzzle helps my aim."

Nova nodded again and Whiplash could teek his focus as well as his general approval for the demonstrator's priorities and manner. The Prime look a moment, brought the barrel of the weapon up and squeezed the trigger. The aim wasn't as good as the demonstrator's, but it still hit one of the piles and set the whole thing glowing, white hot where the shot had hit and spreading the molten damage.

Whiplash shivered, and Nova's engines gave pleased rumble. 

"Very satisfactory," Nova pronounced and handed the barrel of the weapon back, careful to keep it pointed down range. He returned to the gathering with a pleased smile and manner. "How long before it will be cleared for production?"

"Well, with testing and safety features and getting it through legal..."

"I'll streamline the legal," Nova said.

The developer hesitated. "Two vorns."

"Excellent," Nova's brightening field was genuinely pleased. He shifted focus to Lider. "Keep me up to date on this one. It's the future."

* * *

Whiplash swung up into the standard sized chair and tapped his ident crits into the control panel, opening up a secure channel.

"Hey, boss." Revery's face appeared on the screen. "How's Polyhex?" 

"Doing well. The locals are integrating better than I anticipated in both command and agents," Whiplash smiled. "Not everyone's settled, but there aren't nearly as many differences between how our departments operate as there are in some cities."

"So not another Kaon, good," Revery let out a small sound of relief. "Anyone there we want to poach?"

"Not so far. I'm watching a few, but I think that'll just end up as me being overly cautious." Whiplash rested his helm against his hand. "The citizens are responding well. Businesses are thriving, I'm very pleased with the export rate. I want to get them importing a bit more, do we have anyone readily available who can do undercover noble work?"

"Skytrill," Revery suggested. "And on related subjects, one of the new courtesans is either going to be trouble, or a good recruit. He's got the lateral processor that we need."

"I hate new courtesan orders," Whiplash grumbled, making Revery laugh.

"Why? You're not even the one who has to deal with this batch."

"Makes me nervous," Whiplash said. "Some orn someone is going to develop a sleeper code that we don't catch. Each one is a potential threat."

"We're keeping a close watch," Revery assured him. "You can delegate, you know."

"Yeah, but I don't have to like it," Whiplash said, but he was grinning. "So what have you noticed with this one?"

"He has amazing reflexes to avoid glitter and paint bombs, but what really caught my attention is the way he thinks. They're all good at conversation, but this one can actually have a completely civilized debate with no more prep than normal. He's good at _thinking_ ," Revery reported.

"Definitely keep someone watching him," Whiplash agreed. "Good catch. Anything else you've noticed?"

"Just the strong critical thinking," Revery said. "He'll change his opinion based on presented facts. Most of them just agree with whatever their partner is saying, but he can disagree, listen, and do it _nicely._ He's popular, he's going to have a lot of access around the nobles soon."

Whiplash nodded. "Priority one surveillance, then," he said. "Also, have someone design a noble frame and background for Skytrill. Incorporate some Kaon jewels into it."

"Will do. Anything else?" Revery asked as he made notes on a datapad out of sight.

"What's the designation?" Whiplash asked. 

"Sucre."

Whiplash made a face, earning a laugh at his response. He ignored it. "How is Nova doing with the Senate?"

"He's good at it," Revery couldn't help but grin. "As often as not there's a half a dozen off shift agents hanging out just to listen to him talk, and snicker silently when he puts them in their place. Mech has a talent for talking. I don't know what they missed when they picked him, but he rocks."

"Good," Whiplash said. "Set aside some vids of the best ones for me, will you?"

"Of course," Revery grinned. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of your Prime fix."

Whiplash snorted. "Thank you, Revery. I'll check in next decaorn."

* * *

Whiplash moved through the Prime's Residence in near silence, in plain sight but unnoticed by those around him. The Prime's guests were enjoying a late party and the drinks and delicacies were plentiful, and the focus of those around him was on the guests and the courtesans designed to serve them.

Well, almost unnoticed. The courtesans noticed him, most of them being about his size and trained to look for those that stuck to the walls, too shy to socialize. Only they knew him and knew he wasn't one needing their attention so they left him be.

Despite his duties, and his perpetual fixation on the Prime, one pale lavender courtesan kept drawing his attention, though it was not for any reason that an outsider might guess. It was information gathered over three vorns now, each report peaking Whiplash's interest more. Now that he was back from his tour around Cybertron, he was finally getting to see the courtesan for himself. Sucre was as reported, a critical thinker with a processor that far outclassed the rest of those who'd arrived in his batch. Whiplash had watched him not only successfully disagree with nobles, but actually _change their minds_ a few times by providing a clear, reasonable argument.

The ability to converse intelligently had rapidly made him a favorite among the guests, and Whiplash settled himself into a corner to watch Sucre being paid attention to by three royals, all of them with their hands on his frame as he purred to them. Whatever was being said had the royals pleased and it wasn't long before one had plugged into an offered port for a dizzying overload that left the royal lax and hazy.

The other two were brought to overload not long after that, all three slumping against each other as they settled into the dazed, pleasured stupor that a courtesan could bring so easily. Sucre snuggled up with them and Whiplash watched for another klik before slipping into the walls and up into the rafters to go check on Nova.

He found Nova safe and happy with his own courtesans, already recharging, and Whiplash settled down to keep watch on them.

::Boss, Sucre's sneaking out.::

::To where?:: Whiplash's focused shifted immediately to the danger the news represented.

::Not sure yet, he's still in the Residence,:: his watch officer reported. :: Just getting to the main hall now. But he definitely made sure no one noticed him going. I'll call a tracker in to follow.::

::No, I'll track him. Keep an optic on him until I'm there,:: Whiplash corrected as he moved quickly along the ceiling beams towards the wayward courtesan.

He caught up just as Sucre slipped from the main hall, carefully closing the door behind him. He walked quietly through the hallway, heading further back into the Residence, closer to where the Prime was.

Whiplash already had an energon dagger in hand but his grip tightened when Sucre paused and looked around. After a moment, he turned, heading down a path that would lead him away from Nova, towards the gardens.

He headed outside and Whiplash was forced to abandon the cover of the ceiling to move down and follow Sucre out the same way. The courtesan never realized someone was behind him as he walked. It wasn't long before Sucre's destination became apparent; a small shrine to Primus.

Whiplash frowned and tilted his helm as he crept up behind. He'd come to this shrine a few times himself when he needed moments of peace. It was surrounded by multicolored crystals, with a central crystal sculpture that wound into the shape of a spark chamber. Light glowed from inside, a natural mineral that responded to the starlight. Sucre knelt in front of it, placing his palms on the sculpture and resting his helm on it. 

Whiplash carefully slipped closer, wanting a teek to see just what kind of prayers were being offered. At the edge of his field Sucre's was warm, peaceful, grateful and everything annoying that sparklings were before they encountered the real world. Deeper still was a centered glow and it made Whiplash shiver in remembered bliss that the best communions with Primus brought him.

He was teeking a spark that had a deep, vivid connection with their god and he nearly gasped. Such a spark was worthy of a priest. Before he'd even realized it, Whiplash was determined to find this courtesan a second function when this one was over. ISO, the priesthood, something. That spark was worth saving.

Sucre never realized he was there, he was so deep in his communion with Primus, murmuring a soft prayer. Whiplash kept his field still, pressed against the edge of the courtesan's, listening to a prayer of thanks to have been gifted with such a perfect function.

Whiplash touched his fingers to his chest over his spark and silently echoed the words, then smiled and slipped away. ::We don't need to worry about Sucre,:: he commed. 

::Oh? How are you sure?:: the watch officer replied.

::He came out here to pray, I got a good teek without him noticing me,:: Whiplash said, still feeling warm from having been so close to such deep devotion. ::No one can fake that kind of teek. He's devoted to Primus and loves his function.::

::That is excellent news. Finally get to take him off constant watch.::

A moment later Revery pinged Whiplash. ::So what do you think of our lovely courtesan? ISO ... or priest?::

::Still deciding,:: Whiplash said. ::His spark would suit a priest, but I don't know if the courtesan code would adjust well. He's obviously well matched to his function. ISO, undercover, perhaps. He has the frame for an assassin, but I'm not sure he would be able to hurt anyone.::

::We'd find out readily enough in training. I'll put hin on the presumptive list for when it's time.::

::Thanks,:: Whiplash said. ::And cancel the priority one surveillance.::

* * *

Nova Prime's enjoyment of the traditional military tournament held every decade had been noticed enough that it now openly drew royals and nobles from more militant cities. Some had always attended but had been quiet about it, others finally felt it was acceptable since the Prime endorsed and watched. While the four metacycle long event in Iacon was technically just the finals of rounds that began at the squadron level almost as soon as the last tournament ended, few outside the military understood that. It didn't really matter, though the military mecha in general reveled in having a Prime that not only supported their existence but had made them respectable in civilian company again.

Nova knew from personal experience already that military mecha who felt personally valued and cared for by their government would be far more loyal to those asking them to fight. While it wasn't the main reason for his endorsement, it was a huge bonus. He had so many reasons for endorsing them and this event, his own enjoyment among them.

"I wonder how they will react when I am among those fighting," he mused aloud. 

"By panicking, I expect," Whiplash chuckled from where he was lounged on a chair that looked more like an extension of Nova's arm rest than a separate space. "Stuck somewhere between 'can we really fight him' and 'what if we lose'."

"Don't forget, 'What if we win,'" one of Nova's courtesans added with a laugh. "I certainly wouldn't want to be the one who defeated the Prime in public combat." 

"True, though I'm not sure that many of them would grasp the dangers of winning a challenge. It's not in their culture," Whiplash pointed out with a smile, his attention as much on the combat as the conversation. "Have you thought of a prize for the victor?"

"There is already a boon granted by the Lord of Arma for champions," Nova pointed out.

"Something from you personally," Whiplash said. "Any who combat you will be placed in a unique situation, win or lose. You want to make sure there is incentive to fight."

Nova hummed. "Good point. I"ll think about it. Any ideas?"

"You can offer a boon. Even if you limit what may be granted, it is still of a very different type than what the Lord of Arma can give. Your power is focused in the civilian realm, his is within the military," Whiplash explained his offer more than strictly needed. "There is a credit prize, though you could improve it significantly. Even something as simple as offering the best armor and weapons available would be a significant incentive."

"Agreed," Nova said. "Not to mention, the fame of winning. I could guarantee their positions should they win as well." 

"That might not work so well for some of them," Whiplash hummed.

"Hmm, true," Nova said. "They don't generally change ranks, do they? Well, a boon and credits will do for now." 

"It would earn you their best effort, I am sure of it," Whiplash said with approval as the cheering went up when one of the mid-sized frontliner's surrendered with reasonable grace when he was pinned.

"Good. That is what I want. The challengers seem to be getting better with the improved funding and support," Nova rumbled with approval.

"You want them to be an actual challenge when you finally join," the courtesan purred, slipping his fingers over Nova's shoulders. 

"Yes. I need to be able to survive the battlefield," he hummed in pleasure as the next pair, or rather the next pair of pairs came out. "Two on two?"

"They're twins. Normally they'd fight singly, but now that there are two sets they are fighting as the teams they are as a display match," Whiplash explained before the announcer said much the same along with introducing the four mechs and their units and accomplishments.

Nova nodded in understanding and relaxed before drawing one of his courtesans around to kneel between his spread knees with barely more than a touch and caress of his field. The other pressed in behind him to start massaging his neck, purring against Nova's audial while his companion coaxed the Prime's spike out. Listening to the seductive murmuring about how strong and talented he was, Nova extended quickly, relaxing back into his seat with a pleased hum while he watched the two pairs of twins fight in a contest intended to show off the value of their bond and the unique strengths they brought to the battlefield.

"Do bonded pairs all share a similar advantage?" Nova asked after a soft, pleased moan at the attention he was receiving.

"I haven't seen enough bonded pairs in gladiator work to know, but I'm sure it wouldn't be nearly the advantage that twins have," Whiplash said, his attention shifting between the match and his Prime. "I have both kinds in Ops. Both useful, but there's something about twins that makes them more like one creature with two frames."

"Mmm, having the bond from creation, learning together," Nova guessed as one hand drifted down to the courtesan pleasuring his spike to caress his helm. "Why don't we have more twins in the army?"

"They're hard to find," Whiplash said with a shrug. He watched the courtesan's lips press against Nova's spike housing, the full length swallowed. "Many are aborted, or killed after separation, or just separated, which will usually cause deactivation anyway. There's still a lot of superstition about them being demons, especially in less civilized areas. The spark can never be truly whole so it's seen as apart from Primus." Whiplash shook his helm. "I've lived a long time. There are many things apart from Primus, twin sparks are not one of them."

"They're never called?" Nova asked with a gasp that caused all conversation to cease until he roared his overload and settled into awareness again.

"Not deliberately. They occasionally appear, but never because they were asked for. Almost all known twins are kindled," Whiplash explained.

"Those areas where they are undesirable, do we have influence in any of them?" Nova asked, his optics on the battle below.

"Very little," Whiplash admitted. "Unincorporated and unconnected areas, the rural places of the established states, mecha who live largely apart from civilization. Places that wouldn't respond well to any authority stepping in." 

"Energon and wealth are desired everywhere though. Look into how we might convince them to give any twins up to us rather than destroying them," Nova said with his full focus once more. "Surely most such areas are poor."

"Some poor in such a way where credits will be largely worthless to them," Whiplash said. "But energon is a universal language. I'll look into it, though I'm not sure the results will be worth excessive effort. Twins are rare."

"Use your best judgment on it. You've proven you have it," Nova gave him full authority to run the project as he saw fit.

"Thank you, my Prime," Whiplash said with a warm purr.

* * *

Whiplash stretched out on a high window ledge in the Residence, watchful but unobtrusive over the celebrations. As often as Nova held his grand gatherings, Whiplash had long ago worked out his favorite vantage points for this Prime and where he liked to relax. 

"Do you ever take time off?" Nova's rumbling chuckle reached him from just below.

Whiplash frowned and leaned forward, looking over the ledge. Nova looked back up at him. "How did you even notice me?" Whiplash demanded.

"I notice more than you might think," Nova hummed, and lifted up an arm for Whiplash to climb down on. "For example, I notice you spend an awful lot of time watching a certain courtesan."

"I watch all the courtesans," Whiplash said.

"Yes, but you watch that lavender one over there significantly more," Nova said with a grin.

"Maybe I like lavender," Whiplash said, not willing to lie to his Prime about such a trivial thing. Some lies were worth it. This wasn't one of them.

"Maybe you do," Nova agreed. "Tell me, when did you last take some personal time?"

Whiplash twitched, the question startled him so much. "Umm, I don't think I have. Maybe when I was very young."

Nova snorted. "Ridiculous. Well you're going to take some now." 

Whiplash's jaw went slack and he stared, too startled to even formulate acceptance, much less objection.

"You are off duty until three joors after dawn, and take that lavender one with you," Nova said firmly, only just holding in the grin.

"Yes, my Prime," Whiplash managed to stammer before making a graceful leap to the floor. He turned and bowed to Nova. "Thank you."

"Thank me by enjoying yourself," Nova instructed, and raised his hand, getting the courtesan's attention and gesturing him over.

The courtesan disentangled himself from two of his batch-mates, who seamlessly continued with the show they were putting on for the orn's visiting royals. He made his way over to Nova and sank into a deep, respectful bow. "My Prime."

Nova waved a hand at him, accepting the bow and dismissing it all at once. "This is Whiplash, I have mandated him to take some time off and enjoy himself. Please make sure he relaxes." 

"Yes, my Prime," the courtesan said, and reached for Whiplash's hand. 

After a moment of hesitation, Whiplash accepted, and let the courtesan lead him where he would. 

::Boss...:: Revery sounded concerned as he saw the two minibots head into a servants corridor. 

::Prime's orders. I'm off duty for twelve joors.:: Whiplash was bemused at this point, and resigned. ::I'll stay in the Residence.::

"So," Sucre said after a little while of walking. His field was warm, but neutral, responding well to Whiplash's unfamiliarity with the situation. "I don't think we've officially met. I'm Sucre."

"Whiplash," the Ops commander replied with a warmer look. 

"It's very nice to meet you, Whiplash," Sucre said. He stopped in front of a door near the back, the last one available for use. "Are you comfortable with this?" 

Whiplash nodded and Sucre palmed the door open, leading him inside. 

"What do you do, Whiplash?" Sucre asked. 

"I'm the Commander of ISO," Whiplash said, then caught Sucre's hand as the courtesan made to turn towards the berth. "I've seen you praying, in the garden." He used his field to express how much those prayers had touched him. 

"Have you?" Sucre said with a pleased flutter through his field, and a shy duck of his helm. "I never realized. I've seen you watching me, during the parties." 

"You have?" Whiplash was genuinely surprised, even knowing he shouldn't be. Yet it also made his spark flutter a bit as they made graceful leaps onto the berth meant for normal frames. "Did you..." He trailed off, not sure what he was trying to ask. "Did you like what you saw?"

"I like being noticed," Sucre said, and held a hand out, stopping before he touched Whiplash. He waited until Whiplash leaned into the touch before he completed the motion, then allowed himself to be drawn closer when Whiplash reached for him. Their helms brushed together and Sucre pressed his hand to Whiplash's face. "Especially by someone so thoughtful. We don't have to do anything, you know. I'll make sure you don't go back to work, but I'm here for whatever company you'd like."

"I'd like to know a little more about you," Whiplash nuzzled him. "And I suppose a massage, since I've been commanded to relax." He relaxed to his back. "I get to 'face when I feel like it. Taking time isn't nearly as common."

Sucre moved over him. "I get the feeling you'd like to take your time more often," he said, and his fingers brushed Whiplash's chest over his spark, and the courtesan's mouth curled up in a knowing smile. 

"I would," Whiplash willingly admitted with a low sound of pleasure at the warmth of the field against his. 

"We have twelve joors," Sucre said, and shifted into a comfortable straddle. He settled his hands on Whiplash's shoulders, thumbs pressing to the base of his neck. "What would you like to know?" 

"Do you know why you're so drawn to Primus?"

Sucre tilted his helm and hummed thoughtfully. "Ever since my spark was called, I've felt incredibly grateful for the function I have been given. I know Primus must have released me for this, to bring joy to his creations. When I pray, I feel closer to him." Sucre's field was warm, almost to the point of flushing. "I don't know why, just that I am." 

"I'm not going to complain no matter how one reaches where we are," Whiplash grinned with a flush of pleasure from the spark. "I wish more knew the perfection of spark matching function."

"It is a bliss," Sucre murmured in agreement. His fingers were working something close to magic in the cabling of Whiplash's neck, easily finding the tension points that hadn't relaxed in millennia on occasion and helping to ease them. The rush it gave Whiplash dimmed the black mech's optics nearly off for a long klik.

"Primus below that feels good," Whiplash eventually moaned from centuries of subtle tension draining from him. 

"Did you expect otherwise?" the courtesan teased him lightly. 

"I didn't have any expectations." 

"None whatsoever?" Sucre smiled. "So you weren't expecting that I would make you forget entirely about learning more about me." 

"I..." Whiplash glared up at the courtesan, earning a laugh that made his spark skip a little. "I didn't forget." 

"You became very quiet," Sucre hummed. 

Whiplash huffed. "Fine. What do you think of the ideas the new cities are bringing into the empire?"

"There are many of them," Sucre pointed out easily without a break in the rhythm of his massage. "It would be hard to have a singular opinion on something so vast. I think new ideas, and change, have great potential to be a positive influence, but they should not be taken blindly."

Whiplash hummed in agreement. "Any you like or dislike yet?"

"The changes in fashion and style are unique, and some of them very creative," Sucre said. "Especially the influences coming in from Polyhex. Kaon designs are stunning and dramatic. I didn't experience the earlier influences from Kaon myself, but their cultural laws seem to echo their fashion in that way. It makes life quite exciting at times." 

"It's true, Kaon has a definite flare for drama and making a powerful statement. Their style doesn't suit our frametype, though. Polyhex, now, that's a city I could blend into easily, and the music is amazing. It's like they haven't encounter a harmony they didn't like," Whiplash chuckled.

"I'd like to visit some orn," Sucre said, and his hands moved to Whiplash's shoulders. "Do you like to dance?"

"I did, once, very much," Whiplash sighed with pleasure. "And maybe you will get to visit some orn. While uncommon, it's hardly unheard of for palace courtesans to travel. If a noble or royal earns the Prime's favor they are sometimes allowed to take a favored one home for a time. From what I've seen and heard, you're a likely candidate if someone earns that privilege."

"I'm honored by the compliment," Sucre said. He made a satisfied sound when he felt a stubborn tension line in Whiplash's shoulder ease up and the pulsing rush of bliss that went with it. "What was the last time you danced? It feels like it's been too long." 

"Mm, not since Guardian was Prime," Whiplash's optics were off, his pleasure rolling from him in waves as he submitted completely to the care he so rarely received now that he was the commander with no one to command him. "The more rank one has in ISO the more responsibility one has, and the fewer above you to take care of you."

"I can tell," Sucre murmured, and his fingers slipped down again to ghost over his chest. "You haven't had anyone for this in a long while."

"And this is the first time any Prime has granted me someone for it," Whiplash gave a happy sound when his spark and field couldn't contain how much he adored this Prime, even before Nova gave any indication of treating him so well. "He is amazing, so much more than I ever dared hope to serve. He'll make Cybertron strong and safe again."

Sucre smiled as Whiplash rambled about his Prime and everything he'd found with him and everything that was coming for Cybertron. A healthy planet, united and secure in its place in the universe. Nova would stop the decline of their kind and bring them together. During the hopeful ramble he nudged Whiplash to roll over and felt a thrill when the mech did. Even without being told he knew that Whiplash wasn't one who trusted easily and this was an act of trust.

"Until All Are One," Sucre murmured near his audial, engines purring. 

"Until All Are One," Whiplash shivered at the promise of paradise and the peaceful warmth washing into him from above.

Music began playing, one of the songs currently popular in Polyhex. Whiplash's visor slowly came back online and he felt a nudge against his legs.

"Come dance with me, if you're not too limp," Sucre purred. 

"I'm not too limp," Whiplash smiled and his engine purred as he slipped off the large berth and willingly took Sucre's hand, granting him the lead by his first step into the slow, peaceful and intimate dancing song. It was easily taken as Sucre slipped one of his hands against Whiplash's and brought the other up to the back of his helm. Gentle pressure encouraged Whiplash to rest his helm on the courtesan's shoulder. 

The soft sound of Whiplash's systems continuing to relax was the sweetest music for Sucre, proof of a job well done. He kept his field carefully calm and soothing, however. As well hidden as Whiplash kept many things, his desires when he felt safe weren't among them. It was incredibly rewarding to feel centuries of untended tension ooze out of the supple frame.

"You're a good dancer," Sucre murmured after a few kliks. "You should do it more often."

"I'd like to," Whiplash murmured, his visor off and frame relaxed in his enjoyment. "It's not easy to remember with no one to look after me."

"It must be lonely, what you do," Sucre said, and his fingers slipped down to find Whiplash's neck again. "Are any of your batch-mates still functioning?" 

"No, I'm ancient by any standard," Whiplash sighed in a mixture of calm sadness and pleasure at the touch. "It can be lonely, though I can't say I feel it is. I have so many to care for and I like caring for them."

"Come find me when you need to be cared for, then," Sucre said, his voice low, layered with soothing harmonics, a perfect balance with the music and their movements. "I'll make time." 

Whiplash purred and nuzzled him. "Duty must come first. I will come when we are both free."

"Of course duty always comes first," Sucre agreed. "You are an important part of the Prime's circle, helping keep Cybertron healthy. That makes your care part of my responsibilities. If the planet is healthy, so is Primus, and so are the nobles I serve." 

"You truly are amazing," Whiplash purred with a shiver of approval. "It's been kindled generations since a courtesan was so thoughtful."

"I just love my function," Sucre said warmly, and nuzzled Whiplash back. The black mech purred and relaxed further, reveling in the field of someone so like himself in their love of life and function, that perfect match of programing, duties and spark that was rare at best and to be treasured. Without a word Sucre guided the slow dance to the berth and they climbed up. Again without direction Sucre snuggled close, any plans for interfacing long gone with the understanding that what Whiplash desired most was warmth, and a happy, balanced field against his, and recharge in the arms of another.


	3. Loving a Prime

Whiplash swung into the Residence from above, dropped off on the upper level by the transport that was bringing him back from the interstellar spaceport hub near the southern edge of Iacon. Nova had wanted his opinion of an up and coming field officer and whether Dai Atlas was suitable for fast tracking through the upper ranks to general. As far as Whiplash was concerned, the relatively young commander was good for as much command as he was willing to take on. He was gifted in every sense of the glyph.

Usually he headed right back into the ISO base when returning to Iacon, but he felt drawn to the Residence today and didn't resist the urge. It was usually with good cause. When he dropped into the central hall he immediately felt disappointed to find it quiet. ::Is anyone here?:: he asked the head of watch.

::Welcome back, boss. Five of the courtesans are in their lounge,:: came the answer. ::Nova Prime is in session, there are no visitors currently.::

"Oh." Whiplash tried not to sound disappointed, because there wasn't any reason he _should_ feel disappointed. This was just the current state. ::...Which ones?::

::Not Sucre,:: was the knowing, chuckled answer. 

::I didn't...:: Whiplash stopped the objection as it registered he really was only one he wanted to know about.

::He's at the History of Battle museum with a small group. Historia took them on an educational tour.::

"Oh," Whiplash said again, and frowned as he shifted his weight back and forth on his pedes. He really should go just check on the Prime ... but if he was in session, there _would_ already be agents looking after him. ::...How long are they expected to be there?:: he asked, trying to sound casual. 

He could _feel_ the smirk on the other end.

::At least another three or four joors. Go on. Everything's under control here.::

Whiplash snorted. :: And it had better stay that way,:: he warned unnecessarily before heading out to transform and drive to the museum. It was always a good idea to check up on any on the Prime's household when they were in public. It was true too, and though he trusted whoever was keeping an optic on things he still wanted to be there himself. Another set of optics and all, and a nice view when he wasn't scanning for trouble.

He pulled into a transformation lane in front of the museum and stood up, automatically glancing around to take in all around him without pausing on his way up the grand, wide stairs to the entrance and made his way to the VIP entrance. A quick check of his credentials and he was in.

Primus, he hadn't been here in ages. 

Whiplash looked around as he walked, realizing there were entire centuries here he'd never seen the exhibits for. He found the tour group quickly, and once he could see them, realized he had no idea what to do with himself. He obviously had to do _something_ , or Sucre would see him there staring, which would be hideously embarrassing. Even if he didn't know why. But how to say hello?

Maybe ... just don't say anything? Just walk up, walk with them, nod if greeted.

That could work. Maybe. It was at least better than anything else he could come up with.

He strolled over, coming even with the group, placing Historia between himself and the pale lavender courtesan, looking up at the exhibit.

"Whiplash," came Sucre's delighted trill. "What are you doing here?"

Now what?

Whiplash gave himself a brief moment to think by looking over and nodding a greeting that his armor shift made warmer than normal.

"I come here now and then, to see what's recorded and displayed compared to what isn't," he offered a truth. It just wasn't the complete truth.

"What lucky timing, then," Sucre said, stepping around Historia as she nodded her own greeting before continuing her talk on the broadsword display. Sucre lowered his voice as he slipped next to Whiplash. "How have you been? You've been gone for a while."

"I'm good," Whiplash said, brushing his field reassuringly. "I was out on a scouting mission. How have things been here?"

"Wonderful," Sucre sighed happily, and slipped his hand into Whiplash's. Whiplash managed to avoid jumping when his spark did. "Nova has had visitors from all over the planet. It's been amazing."

"Oh?" Whiplash's vocalizer felt funny, tight. "Any you found particularly interesting?"

"The Seekers," Sucre hummed. "They are incredibly different, even from other flight frames. I believe I can serve Praxians so much better understanding a little more about where they came from."

Whiplash smiled and they moved onto the next display, this one from Kaon, and sought for anything to say. Sucre's field brushed against his. "They've long been the best metallurgists and forgers on Cybertron," he blurted. 

"Is that because of all the mines they have?" Sucre asked smoothly, ignoring the painfully obvious awkwardness. "Access to good material?"

"It was certainly a starting point," Whiplash said, grateful to be given something to talk about. "What really fueled it was their aggression. Supply only goes so far. Demand must also be there." He kept his voice quiet so Historia wouldn't tell him to do the full tour.

"I have no problem believing there was aggression to go around," Sucre said with a quiet laugh. "Having known plenty of them in berth." He drew Whiplash away a few steps, then back to an older display. "Do you know anything about this one? Historia didn't know where the design on the hilt came from."

Whiplash looked up at the sword, one he recognized immediately, and chuckled. "Probably because that particular Lord let his two-vorn creation draw it."

"Really?" A grin split Sucre's face. "How do you know that?"

"I was alive for it. It was a great tidbit to bring a bit of levity when needed around the table," Whiplash smiled fondly. "It was a long time ago, I was still only a mid-ranked agent. There wasn't an empire back then by any stretch of the term, though plenty of cities that used the term for themselves. It was also a time of better relations than exist now, though it's changing."

Sucre didn't say anything for a few moments, then Whiplash glanced at him and realized he was staring.

After a moment, Sucre looked back at the sword's description and found the date, just to confirm that it was what he thought it was. "But ... How old _are_ you?"

"I was commissioned towards the end of Alpha Prime's reign," he answered smoothly, his field reaching out to offer support. "I'm old."

Sucre stared for a few more moments, then grabbed Whiplash's hand with both of his and dragged him over to the first display in the weapons exhibit. "I want the entire tour, except from you this time," he said eagerly. "And then the rest of the museum." 

Whiplash grinned at the eagerness. "Sure, though not all today. We are expected back in a few joors."

"Oh, I fully expect it to take several outings," Sucre said with an answering grin, then leaned in and kissed Whiplash on the cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Whiplash murmured with a trace of giddy shock and leaned into the contact before it was gone again. 

* * *

The time with Sucre had lifted Whiplash's spark enough that his bolder agents teased him about his teek all through the reports and meetings. He couldn't even object to it on the prospect of getting to spend his down time with the courtesan. He still had to attend to joors of work first, catching up on the state of his base after his absence, and when that was finished, looking in on Nova.

But he found the Prime already engaged with his private courtesans, and instead of watching as he usually did, slipped away to go find Sucre. His cables, which had spent most of his life being tense, now objected to any time spent away from Sucre's massages. He was already putting credits away to buy the courtesan's contract from the temple himself when Sucre was discharged on the chance that Sucre didn't want anything to do with ISO work. The improved efficiency and lower tension of anyone who spent time with him made the purchase well worth it. He was going to have the credits to pay for it from any account Sucre would accept it coming from.

Whiplash was looking forward to it too, to a time when he could be reasonably certain of Sucre's attentions more off shifts than not.

He found the courtesan with his batch-mates in their private lounge, playing a board game with three of them while all nine that were there chatted. The rest of them were either in private rooms or loaned out to different cities. That Sucre wasn't among them was surprising to Whiplash, but he wasn't going to complain.

Sucre's back was to him but one of the batch-mates saw and pointed in Whiplash's direction, and another nudged him. Sucre turned around, and brightened immediately, rising smoothly to his pedes. "What brings you here?" he asked with a light, teasing harmonic. 

"Hoping to find you," Whiplash purred and studiously ignored the way his spark fluttered when their fields touched. "I would like your company until one of us is called on again," he extended a hand in request.

"Then I am yours until then," Sucre said, linking their fingers together. "Where to?"

"Same room as last time," Whiplash said easily as they walked through service halls. "What part of the museum would you like to visit next time we go out?"

"Actually I'd love to see the geology exhibit," Sucre said. "I'd love to learn more about the formation of Cybertron. Did you know last vorn an expedition made it deeper into the planet than any other ever has? They're still working on compiling the data, I can't wait until they release the reports."

Whiplash chuckled. "I'm happy to go with you, though I can't add much to that tour. It's not a field where much has been lost in my lifetime. How close did they come to the core?"

"They think close to halfway down, the instruments get a bit scrambled that deep," Sucre said. "And I don't mind if you can't add anything. I like just being with you." He led Whiplash into the suite. "I bet your cables are sore." 

"Mmm, they are, and I still haven't gotten a good polish in after decaorns in the field," he drew Sucre into the room and turned into the gentle spin of a slow dance. "But first, I miss my dance partner."

"And I've missed mine," Sucre said, his voice soft, field warm. "More than I thought I would, actually."

Whiplash shivered. "As did I. I thought about your touch most orns. I've become very spoiled."

"I'm happy to spoil you, you need it," Sucre said, and touched their forehelms together as they moved through the dance and Whiplash gradually relaxed, turn by turn. "Just let me know when you're ready for that massage."

By the time Whiplash guided them to the berth he was all but leaning on Sucre, content to give up control to the other. The massage that followed left him as completely limp as it usually did, and he was rolled onto his side at the end to be brought into the courtesan's arms. Sucre nuzzled him, then trilled to get his attention.

Whiplash looked up. "Mm?"

"I ... want to do something," Sucre said. "But, it's not because it's something I can tell you want, which is usually..." He trailed off, glancing away. "Is that okay?"

"What do you want to do?" Whiplash asked even as he pressed encouragement into his field despite his dazed state.

Sucre x-vented, then wrapped a hand around the back of Whiplash's neck and pulled him into a kiss. Light for a moment, as Whiplash stiffened in shock, before Sucre deepened it. As he did, his field tightened nervously. 

Whiplash moaned under him and began to kiss back with an eagerness that simply wasn't faked on any level. He felt Sucre's nervousness vanish in a flood of relief and arms wrapped around him while legs tangled with his. Sucre pulled in a sharp vent when Whiplash's wrapped around him in turn. His helm tilted to the side, mouth parting slightly to meet Whiplash's. 

Glossa tangled, caressed and mapped as their frames heated with quickly building desire.

When Sucre's fingers started to move on the back of his neck, Whiplash's grip tightened.

"'S okay?" Sucre murmured.

"Yes," Whiplash answered firmly. "Very okay."

"Oh good," Sucre sighed against Whiplash's mouth. Fingers which had not long ago worked Whiplash into a state of absolute relaxation now moved in those same cables to excite. Whiplash moaned into the next kiss and his hands responded almost as skillfully to arouse Sucre. A thrill went through Sucre's field and he pushed Whiplash to his back, moving in over him. His second hand moved to Whiplash's chest, caressing one of the side vents. 

The surge of _want_ and arousal that pulsed back was deep and from the spark, surprising even Whiplash in its intensity.

"Yes," Whiplash moaned deeply and pressed into the touch.

Sucre shuddered above him and rocked forward, grinding their plating together. His next x-vent was hot, a gasp as Whiplash's armor loosened for him, letting his fingers slip under.

Despite the trembling of his frame and armor, Whiplash managed a steady voice. "Know spark play?"

"I know spark play," Sucre said. His voice wasn't steady. The next words were even less so. "I know I've wanted to taste your chamber."

Something very close to a whine escaped Whiplash and his armor unlocked. Despite the insanity of it, how his entire upbringing screamed at him not to, matte black armor plates parted to expose a chamber as dark as the rest of the mech, with texture that looked more like steel than crystal.

Sucre shuddered as his hand found the edge, almost disbelieving what his senses were telling him. His mouth found Whiplash's neck and his fingers slipped onto the crystal. "Oh Primus," he whispered.

"Yes, gift from Primus," Whiplash whispered, his voice and processors all but stolen by a touch he hadn't had since he became the commander of ISO.

"It's been too long, hasn't it," Sucre murmured. He started to kiss down Whiplash's neck. "Could tell from the first time I touched you." He traced the latticework, and couldn't hide the overwhelmed trembling in his fingers.

"Entirely too long," he gasped as his visor flickered off. His field was alive with pleasure that was only partially physical, the added pleasure that of a deep desire being fulfilled. Unaware of it briefly, Whiplash's chamber spiraled open to wash Sucre in pale pink light.

The courtesan gasped and moved his helm down, pressing his mouth to the chamber and licking up along the crystal. It was all Whiplash could take and the overload surged through him, into Sucre and pulsed spark energy directly into his face and processors.

Sucre held there, absorbing and then reflecting it back into Whiplash to lengthen his overload. He didn't move until it dissipated, then he lifted his helm and caught Whiplash's lax mouth in a kiss that was gradually returned as the mech regained coherency, his spark locked away once more.

"That was amazing," Whiplash whispered in awe.

"Yeah, it was," Sucre purred in agreement. He snuggled in against Whiplash. "Mmm, thank you."

"Welcome, and thank you," Whiplash spoke softly. "Would you recharge better with an overload?"

He felt the flicker of surprise, and then gratitude. "Shouldn't surprise me that you know exactly what to ask," Sucre murmured with a soft smile. 

"I do have the coding, even if it doesn't dominate," Whiplash smiled and kissed him softly. "It's okay to be unsure. Learning what _you_ desire can be the work of a lifetime for our kind."

Sucre nodded with a small smile. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I guess that means no. I know I like this," he said before pressing in for another kiss.

"Good," Whiplash pressed that he meant it. "I very much enjoy snuggling with you as well."

* * *

Nova gave a pleased hum as he looked over the map that was being projected above the council table. It showed their galaxy and the areas they had already brought under Cybertronian control, those they were currently in peace negotiations with, and those that Nova had hopes to annex within the next few centuries. Cybertron had become a united force, with few exceptions that all had strong treaties with Iacon. Not even the most rebellious city cultures did not pay him his due as their ruler.

"We are progressing well, my Prime," Whiplash said with warm harmonics from a favored lounging spot on a shelf near the Prime's optic level.

"We are," Nova said with a pleased purr. "I think with just a little more effort, we could take the Tai'za'lek system. I don't think the treaty talks will be progressing much further." 

Whiplash turned the data on that system over a few times and skimmed various probabilities into the future. "They may, though I agree the odds are not in a treaty's favor. Perhaps an opportunity to see how Dai Atlas handles a promotion and army?"

"No, I don't want to take him away from the borders, they are at a critical point," Nova hummed. He looked to one of his generals. "How quickly do you believe Kaon could produce a double order of troops?" 

"With appropriate funding..." he paused for Nova to nod that credits weren't an issue, "I would expect twenty vorns. Much of the training and upgrades can't be rushed any more than it already is without compromising quality." There was a delicate pause. "My Prime, perhaps that is not the best use of frames at the moment," his harmonics as careful and respectful as always.

"What do you mean?" Nova asked with a frown, looking in his direction.

"That many frames could be put to better use here at home," Whiplash said. "The need for--"

Nova held up a hand, stopping him. Whiplash fell silent, wanting to give his Prime time to reach the best conclusion on his own, as he always had. There was a pause, and then Nova's expression darkened. "You will not question my decisions, _ever,_ " he rumbled, and pointed at the door. "Get out."

Despite his shock, and the shock evident in the others in the room, Whiplash slipped away quickly and without a word of protest.

He wanted to stay, and tried doubling back to listen from above, but found his frame frozen. The harmonics in Nova's voice had wanted him _gone_ from the meeting entirely, so Whiplash found himself making his way back into ISO territory. 

"Whiplash, what happened?" the first agent to cross paths with him asked with worry clear in his harmonics and frame.

"Nova Prime did not wish me present at the war meeting, that's all," Whiplash reassured him, reaching up to touch the grounder's wrist. It wouldn't do for him to upset his agents because of the Prime's wishes. 

The agent looked alarmed, then concerned, then calmed and nodded. "Okay. Take care."

Whiplash nodded and watched the agent go. He felt torn, and sluggish, and couldn't pinpoint the cause of it. After a few kliks of not moving, he decided his office would be a good place to be, where he could work on approving the requests that needed his attention. He was aware of optics on him, the concerned looks, but no one approached him on the way so he gave it little thought. 

He had joors of work to do and didn't emerge from his office until the next orn, frame stiff and ready to stop staring at datapads for a while. He made his way up to the surface, intent on finding Nova to check in on his well-being. The meeting was over by now, so there was no reason Whiplash couldn't slip right back into his normal duties. He found Nova where he expected at this time, lounging with several of his courtesans in the molten lava pool near the front of the Residence.

A courtesan spotted him first, and to Whiplash's surprise Nova's gaze was directed at him in short order.

"Whiplash, do come down."

Whiplash obediently crawled out of his hiding place and made his way down to the main level, immediately crouching into a low bow, his helm almost touching the floor. 

"None of that. I'm not angry," Nova said. "I would have looked for you, but you are entirely too good at disappearing for it. I knew you'd come near me again. Now, what were you saying about better uses for the frames?"

Whiplash lifted his helm, his armor nearly shuddering in relief. "The Kaon mines need more workers," he said. "And requests for laborers have gone up by almost sixty percent in just the last century. There are many places here at home that need the frames, and the treaty does still stand a chance of working. If not, current forces still stand a good chance against theirs. Industry at home doesn't stand nearly as good of a chance without workers."

Nova hummed. "Why haven't current protocols handled the need?"

"They are old," Whiplash said. "The last time minimum requirements were adjusted, demand was not nearly as high as it is now. There is work that needs to be done to keep up with the growth of your successes." 

"Then before the next general meeting, ensure that whoever oversees such things knows to have a report for me on what needs to change and how it will affect military, production and resources." Nova told him. "I would have a new protocol set up that takes into account the way needs change."

"I will, my Prime," Whiplash said. "Thank you." He hesitated, looking up at Nova, who smiled back gently. "In the future, would you like me to address concerns with you in private?"

"There is no need," Nova shook his helm. "I was simply too excited at the prospect of having the system." His voice lowered along with his optics. "Even Primes are mecha."

"Only a true Prime could admit such a thing," Whiplash said, feeling comfortable enough to get back up on both pedes and take a few steps forward. "Do you desire anything else?" 

"Yes, once you give the notices, take until three joors after dawn off and enjoy that little lavender one you like so much," Nova smiled at him.

Whiplash's spark gave a giddy jump that he was sure Nova could teek. He ducked his helm, smiling, and bowed respectfully. "I will. Thank you, Nova." 

* * *

Sucre was waiting with a warm, honest smile and eager field when Whiplash walked into the room that had become theirs and accepted the hand that led them into a slow dance that was long out of favor but for the handful that had been maturing when it was popular.

"Heard some murmuring about you today," Sucre said quietly, helm pressed to Whiplash's. "You okay?" 

"Yes," Whiplash breathed a sigh of relief. "Nova was stressed and excited about a project and had a small moment of distress when it wasn't the best moment for it. All is well."

"Good," Sucre hummed, then pulled back a little to meet Whiplash's visor. "Though I'm not sure if all is well." 

Whiplash went serious even as the dance continued. "What has you concerned?"

"Some of the nobles were talking," Sucre said. "Not everyone is thrilled with the changes Nova has made to their cities."

"Not unexpected. Did you learn of any specifics? The exact changes, what city or nobles?" Whiplash was now keenly interested even as his frame relaxed into the dance and against Sucre's frame.

"It was a pair from Polyhex I was listening to, June and Sheer," Sucre said, relieved as always at how well Whiplash could phase and harmonize his questions to take off the coding pressure to be silent. "They were frustrated with the higher taxes paid to the Empire. I got the impression from what little I heard that they aren't alone, but I didn't get any other designations or details." 

Whiplash relaxed further, his field curling out to surround Sucre with approval. "Thank you. I'll see it's looked into. Taxes are an expected complaint, though worth looking into the validity of. Not all bureaucrats are honest."

"Mhmm." Sucre nuzzled the ISO mech, field teasing back against him. "Just glad I have someone to tell."

"Glad to be here for you. Glad to have you here for me," Whiplash shivered with the truth of it. "Anything else weighing on your processors?"

"Oh yes," Sucre said. "Something very important."

"What is it?" Whiplash asked, concerned again.

"How long it's been since we've done this," Sucre said, and kissed him as the matte black mech melted into it. 

"I can't argue that," Whiplash purred and guided them towards the berth. "It's been entirely too long since I've enjoyed your touch on my chamber."

Sucre looped his arms around Whiplash's neck as soon as they were on the padding and tackled him back in a grinning kiss. "I was dreaming about this," he said, and his fingers were already teasing the seam. "How I _wanted_ to do this." 

The shudder of _want_ cascaded through Whiplash's entire being with a deep groan and the click of unlocking armor. "I enjoy giving you what you want, Sucre."

Fingers curled around Whiplash's chamber, and then he heard the sound of chest plates unlocking. "Then, I want to do more than just touch your chamber," Sucre said. 

The matte black visor, usually an invisible band of matte black on matte black, flared brightly enough to look normal, yet it was Whiplash's field that spoke clearly for him.

_**YES!** _

"Yours," Whiplash whispered, opening his chamber to allow the pale pink light to spill out. Sucre's frame pressed against his and for a long moment, Whiplash was lost in the next kiss. When Sucre shifted over him, Whiplash got a hand against his shoulder and pushed back. "Wait," he panted.

Sucre immediately froze, then shrank back.

Whiplash quickly chased with a kiss. "I don't mean stop," he said quickly. "I just want to see..."

Sucre's optics brightened in comprehension and he shifted back, enough for Whiplash to be able to see his pulsing, racing lavender spark with a ruby halo. 

"Primus," Whiplash could barely whisper in awe as he reached up to caress it every so lightly. "So beautiful."

Sucre's field flushed. "So are you," he said, and settled himself into a straddle over Whiplash's waist. His chamber spiraled open and he shook when black fingers brushed over the crystal. " _Whiplash..._ "

"Want you," Whiplash whispered and withdrew his fingers to fully expose his internals. "Please. Want you."

Sucre nodded shakily and lowered his frame, mouth catching Whiplash's as their sparklight began to merge, tendrils snaking out to braid and knot together. Shivers moved over them before their frames stilled, caught together as the merge deepened.

~Whiplash,~ Sucre's spark sighed as they were pulled into each other. 

~Sucre. So lovely,~ Whiplash replied, and here it was blindingly clear that it was the spark, the calm and care and creative intellect that drew him in and captivated him. Beneath that was the intense love for Primus that Whiplash felt in his own spark, trembling and passionate. With nothing between them, it was powerful.

~Like being here with you,~ Sucre murmured, relaxing into the merge, letting the shivers of pleasure and charge roll over them.

~Thank you,~ Whiplash's very spark cried with joy at having someone to share with after so long being alone. ~Thank you for wanting me.~

~I couldn't stop myself from wanting you if I'd tried,~ Sucre said, shocked on a level that it was true. Coding and reason be damned, he truly did desire Whiplash with all his being. He felt a rising understanding from Whiplash, a being that should not be able to desire like this, for he should only love the Prime.

With the coding stripped away, all of it surged forward and into each other as they basked in each other and this gift that Primus had given their kind, to connect, and _know_ , to be part of another during their time spent in their frames.

~Thank you,~ Sucre whispered as he began to shudder with the cascading energy. 

* * *

Whiplash perched on the back of a chair as Nova's Chief of Defense pulled up a map of the galaxy, explaining everything that had happened in the last vorn and where it left them now. He frowned but didn't say anything about the extreme territory grabs that Nova had been making. His job was to care for the Prime, and after that, Cybertron, so he had very little in the way of influence over the galaxy conquests.

Except, there _was_ plenty he could say. Like how all the resources going to unnecessary, ill-planned glory wars were starting to strain the population at home. ... They _were_ unnecessary, weren't they? He knew from his perspective they seemed to be, yet the Prime _knew_ things that couldn't always be explained. All true Primes did.

Whiplash felt his spark turn strangely at the thought, but trying to figure it out just made him feel worse. He stopped and turned his attention back to Nova. The conversation was going well. Those in the meeting generally agreeing. The wealthy grew more wealthy and that soothed many an objection. It was only the commoners that were unhappy. Overworked, even when paid well enough to enjoy luxuries, were still strained and it was beginning to show.

When would enough be enough?

"Production is no longer meeting demand," Mercury rumbled. "Forces for the front have been dwindling. We'll need to find more frames soon."

"What of the prison program?" Nova asked.

"We get every eligible prisoner as soon as they're convicted and sentenced," Mercury answered. "There just don't seem to be enough frames produced, even at top speed, to meet all the demand."

Nova nodded and hummed thoughtfully. "Expand the prison program to all sentences. Service will be for the duration of their sentence."

The Lord of Arma cycled his optics. "Same terms as before?"

"Yes," Nova nodded. "They'll get energon and shelter for the duration, and if they earn a promotion they can keep the pay difference. Infractions are dealt with as usual."

"Will this be mandatory as well?" Whiplash asked.

"Of course," Nova said.

"What of non-violent offenders?" Whiplash asked, with only the deepest respect in his voice.

"They are still criminals and dependent on the state until they serve their sentences. They might as well earn their energon rather than be a drain on society," Nova pointed out. "The prison staff can go to other jobs within the system."

Whiplash hesitated. There were objections he wanted to voice to the idea of sending a non-violent, short-term offender, but they seemed to die in his vocalizer. "My Prime, perhaps only repeat offenders?" he ventured. "Many serve only one sentence in their lives, and would not be suited to warfare."

"If this was a punishment, perhaps, but this is to fill a need of the empire," Nova rumbled his displeasure at being challenged, no matter how politely. "We need pedes on the ground and it is a better use for them than prison."

"Yes, Prime," Whiplash murmured, and bowed his head. 

Nova nodded his acceptance and approval at the quick silence. "What else can be done to improve production of mecha?"

The conversation after that devolved into a discussion of how to raise pre-prog production while not breaking the guidelines that had been set earlier in Nova's reign regarding the maximum amount a pre-prog was permitted to be worked over the course of a decaorn. Whiplash listened and recorded, but mostly faded into himself as he tried to sort out his own thoughts.

When the meeting was over he wandered back towards ISO, then changed his mind and headed towards the Residence. There wasn't any point in denying why he was going there, so he immediately took to the ceiling to look for the lavender courtesan.

Sucre was with one of the Kaon visitors, a relation of Nova's who was currently giving him a rough spiking. Whiplash watched for a few moments, then crept away to the courtesans' lounge.

"Whiplash," Bonbon greeted him cheerfully as the ISO commander dropped in. "He's busy."

"I saw," Whiplash said. "Would you..."

"We'll let him know," Choco said.

Whiplash gave them both a grateful smile before heading to their suite. Three joors later Sucre slid into the room they'd often shared. He'd cleaned up, though was not in perfect shape.

"Whiplash," he trilled warmly.

Whiplash roused from his light doze and smiled, then frowned when Sucre's step had an obvious limp. "Do you need repairs?"

Sucre shook his helm as he climbed onto the berth. "Hips got knocked a bit out of alignment, but it'll correct," he said. He lay down facing Whiplash. "You okay? Don't usually see you this soon." 

"The meeting today was difficult," Whiplash submitted to his coding to understate his distress as he snuggled in close. One hand moved to the damaged hip, stroking to assess what he could do to speed the repair along.

It made Sucre hiss when he reached the worst of the damage, a joint that wasn't fully connected, but the courtesan held still for him to finish.

"It'll pop back," Sucre said, reaching down. "And it barely hurts when I don't have weight on it, anyway." 

"All right," Whiplash conceded, though he wasn't completely happy as he watched his lover set the joint. Once Sucre's hand moved away he reached for it again, but didn't touch. Light magnetic fields wrapped around the joint and its leg, both soothing and taking more weight off.

Sucre looked down in surprise and took a moment to work out what he was feeling, then sank into the berth with a hum. "That feels really good," he murmured.

"Good," Whiplash purred with a genuine smile. "I like it when you feel good."

"Then it feels _really_ good," Sucre said, and his optics flickered a little bit when Whiplash moved his hand closer towards his pelvis. " _Ah._ " He snuggled closer, helm pressing against Whiplash's shoulder. 

Whiplash smiled and brought both palm magnets to bear on Sucre's interface arrays. Teasing a bit a first, getting a feel for how much the overload was wanted before focusing on nudging his lover over the edge. It wasn't going to take much, Whiplash could teek that very quickly. A few kliks of manipulating both panels and the systems around them had Sucre shuddering. The courtesan was gripping him, panting, rocking with the slow push-pull of the magnets.

A gasp followed by a soft moan, muffled against Whiplash's armor, warned of the overload that had been swelling. It crested within moments and Sucre whined, shaking as he clung to Whiplash, riding out the waves of charge.

It ended with Sucre limp and trembling in Whiplash's arms, fans flushing out air to cool his systems, teeking dazed. "'S really good," he murmured. 

"It's a good look on you, this lax bliss," Whiplash purred with all the pleasure it brought him to overload his lover, and wasn't that an odd-feeling term to apply to himself. He'd used the glyph often enough, but never the way the kindled ones did.

Sucre hummed and nuzzled him and kissed his plating. "On you too," he said, as he settled himself a bit and lifted his helm. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers over Whiplash's jaw. "What was that meeting about?" he asked. 

"It was the vorn in review and planning session," Whiplash sighed and turned into the touch, taking comfort in having someone to talk to that didn't directly answer to him. "The military can't get enough warm frames, no one can with how fast we're expanding, so the answer decided on was to expand the conscription process from those with life or death sentences to everyone convicted of any crime."

"But..." Sucre's field flickered in shock. "Surely not _any_ crime?"

"Any crime that results in jail time," Whiplash said.

"What about a speeder who can't pay a ticket?" Sucre asked. "There are sentences that are only jail time because of limited finances." 

"I know, and I'm sure practical aspects will limit it to those who won't complete their sentence before reaching the front lines," Whiplash sighed. "But yes, many who only have a few vorns to serve will be sent to the front lines."

"That isn't right," Sucre said. "That isn't taking care of the planet." 

"The Prime suggested it," Whiplash countered weakly, his distress evident in his field rather than frame. "He must know something I don't."

Sucre shook his head. "Do _you_ think it's a good idea?"

Whiplash looked at him, mouth open, and couldn't speak. His field spiked again.

Sucre nodded his understanding and his entire demeanor changed. He shifted, the lines of his frame and field smoothing, and pressed his hand to the side of Whiplash's face, brushing their lips together in a soft kiss. "Merge with me," he murmured.

Whiplash didn't hesitate and his field smoothed as his coding perceived the subject dropped in favor of pleasure. Armor unlocked and that unusual black chamber lifted up and spiraled open to expose the pale pink spark.

"Love this look on you," Sucre purred, caressing the black crystal. His own chest opened and he leaned in for a kiss as the merge began. Their sparks, now well familiar, tangled together and mingled easily.

Whiplash groaned in a mixture of physical bliss and control coding falling away from his awareness.

~I fear it is happening again,~ the ancient spark keened in emotional pain. He loved this Prime, yet his spark did not deny what his processors could.

~What is?~ Sucre asked gently as he felt Whiplash forcefully push his processors further away from the merge than usual.

~Like all Primes who were not chosen by the Matrix, he is going aggressively insane. There have actually been four Primes since Guardian. The first three chosen went insane in a matter of decades and have been stripped from the records. I've seen it too many times since the Senate came to power under Vector.~ Whiplash unfolded spark-memories of what was not recorded.

Sucre watched, and shuddered at what he was seeing. ~Are you sure this is what is happening to Nova?~ he asked. 

~As sure as one can be so early. He's not yet to the point where I know he's insane, yet I do know the Matrix did not choose him, even if he does carry it. I like him. He's been good for so very long. I thought the counsel might have stumbled on a true Prime...~ he shivered with a spark-deep cry of loss.

~I'm so sorry,~ Sucre murmured. He understood what the Prime was to his lover. More than just the coding imperative, Whiplash was utterly devoted to Nova. ~Is there anything you can do? He could hurt Cybertron.~

~He still gives me much leeway, and many of his counsel trust me. I can mitigate some with that discretion and by bending the audial of city leaders here and on foreign worlds. He makes demands, but beyond the military he largely allows us to do as we please. I can't protect Cybertron forever from expanding too fast, but I can and am trying.~ Whiplash sighed and snuggled into the supporting warmth of his lover. In that contact was how much Sucre's presence helped him.

~I don't know how much I can help with Nova,~ Sucre said. ~But I'll be here for you, as much as I can be.~

~That is worth a lot to me,~ Whiplash whispered, still bewildered and awed by what they had. ~I don't need your action. Just ... comfort.~

~I can do that,~ Sucre's spark promised with everything he was. 

* * *

It had been a simple, innocent question. Whiplash thought he'd been careful, respectful, following Nova's train of thought.

Clearly not.

Nova's voice shook the room as he yelled, not only at Whiplash, but at all of his generals for refusing to trust him.

"Get out, _get out!_ " Nova roared, pointing at the door as he looked directly at Whiplash. 

The black minibot was out the door and all the way to the palace courtesan's residence before his processor even realized what was going on. When he finally did start to think again he stilled, bewildered at being here and not his domain.

His Prime was furious with him, he shouldn't be _here_. He stopped with his hands and helm on the door, trying to calm the shaking in his frame.

"Whiplash?"

Cocoa's voice actually made him jump and he spun, staring at the courtesan.

"...Should I go get him?" Cocoa asked hesitantly. "I could probably switch with him, they're past the part where they like him better." 

Whiplash worked his jaw, trying to speak even though nothing was coming out.

"Yes," a voice came from above as a taller blue and gold dropped down next to Whiplash. "Thank you."

Cocoa nodded and darted off before Seris, Whiplash's SIC, turned to his boss. "It'll be okay. Just relax."

"Nova," Whiplash managed. Nova was furious.

"I know," Seris said. "Everything will work out. Just a few kliks."

Whiplash nodded, pressing his palms to his helm and trying to figure out how to think again.

"...Whiplash?"

His helm snapped up at the voice that had long meant comfort and balance.

"Come," Seris said firmly and led them both into ISO's domain. 

For Sucre it was his first trip into a realm that few outside the service entered. As he was taking it in, what really struck him was how mundane it looked. The walls were smooth and largely undecorated, and it felt cozy. Build for mecha not much larger than average or smaller.

For Whiplash, every step further inside settled him, settled his processors and allowed him to begin to function again.

"These are Whiplash's quarters," Seris was saying and very pointedly allowed Whiplash to tap in the code and enter first. "It's important to let the owner enter first. Most of us leave nasty surprises for uninvited guests."

"I understand," Sucre nodded, then followed Whiplash in when the matte back mech motioned him.

Whiplash x-vented, staring at the floor and making a note to thank Seris later. He hadn't been prepared for that kind of wrath from a Prime to be directed at him.

"What happened?" Sucre asked. He lingered near the door, uncertain of his welcome further into the space. 

"He's angry," Whiplash managed, his field reaching out for contact.

Sucre took a few steps forward, then when Whiplash's hand mimicked his field, closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the ISO commander. "It's okay," he murmured as Whiplash began to shake in his grip. "You're away from him now." 

"Yes, but he's angry with me," Whiplash turned in the embrace to press fully against Sucre and held onto him. His field was broken into two distinct layers, one of his processors that was full of distress at the anger, but under it was the spark that was growing resigned to coping with another insane Prime. All of it hurt though. No matter how insane the Prime at their end, Whiplash had loved each and every with all he was.

"What set him off this time?" Sucre asked, guiding Whiplash's helm to rest against his shoulder. His other hand rubbed the small of his back and he began to sway to silent music in a slow dance that often comforted the black mech. 

"I asked if I should up the priority of a corruption case in Kaon," Whiplash sighed as he began to relax.

Sucre sighed and shook his helm. "As random as any of the others," he murmured. "Why would he care about a corruption case?"

"He was talking about the cost of corruption and how we needed to crack down on it," Whiplash relaxed further. "I thought I was following his intention."

"I don't know if you'll always be able to," Sucre said. He guided Whiplash through a complicated series of steps, smiling when there was no hesitation. "Well remembered."

"No, not likely," Whiplash murmured. "I still have to try. He doesn't beat me like he does some of the others."

"Good," Sucre said, hold on Whiplash tightening. He looked around a bit as they moved. "You don't spend much time here, do you," he said, seeing empty walls and a practical space with very little in it. 

"Not really. An agent's quarters are a safe place first and foremost. A place to hide and decompress from a mission where there aren't triggers and no one to mistake for an enemy," Whiplash said softly, finally in a state where Sucre knew he would be okay. "We personalize it for whatever 'safe' means to us. For me, that's empty, open and nothing to hide behind. Others take comfort in trophies, knickknacks, some just have an image system. My stuff is either in my office or the quarters attached to it."

Sucre nodded with a hum. They danced for a few more kliks, until Whiplash's field had smoothed out and his frame was relaxed against Sucre's. "The berth looks so small," Sucre said as they came to a stop. "Compared to the ones in the Residence."

"The Residence is sized for a Prime," Whiplash said. "Not so down here. This is sized for my comfort when I'm stressed. For me, that's small."

"I like it," Sucre said. "Feels safe, somehow." He pulled Whiplash along with him to the berth.

A few groons later found them on their backs, lying opposite on the padding as they looked up at the ceiling. Sucre inhaled deeply from the nitrous joint before passing it back to Whiplash. "Ever done anything besides ISO?" he asked. 

"Nah, I was sparked for the function, though I guess more than a few undercover missions when I was younger probably qualified. I can pass as a distiller, noble from several cities, waste disposal specialist, pleasurebot, county clerk, librarian, servant, bartender, Enforcer..." He trailed off when he realized he was probably rambling. "Might be easier to list what I haven't been. I did a lot of undercover."

"I can tell," Sucre chuckled as Whiplash took a hit from the joint before handing it back. "Ever get tricky to keep that all apart in your head?"

"Nuh-uh. By the time I was sparked it was pretty well understood how to keep profiles separate. Not that I haven't had times when the protocols broke down, but that's why we have processor docs," he chuckled a bit darkly. "It's not much different from how your coding helps you adapt and remember to what each client likes and wants."

Sucre nodded. "Makes sense." He took a long draw. "Mmm, that's really good." He giggled. "Should I not ask where you got it?"

"You can ask," Whiplash grinned a bit manically at him in his drug-induced good mood. "We make all our own concoctions. Most are even legal, 'cause no one's thought to ban them yet."

"That's a good way to do things," Sucre said. They fell silent for a while, trading the joint back and forth until Sucre took the final draw from it. He gave a contented sigh. "Hey, Whiplash?"

"Mm?"

"I keep wondering, where did your destination come from?"

"My favored weapon; a whip," Whiplash answered easily.

"You can use a whip as a weapon?" Sucre asked.

"That was what it was created to be," Whiplash chuckled. "What do you think of them as?"

Sucre lifted his helm to give Whiplash a look. "Give you one guess."

"Anything used to hurt is a weapon," Whiplash pointed out.

"Mm, that's true," Sucre said, and put his helm back down. "And I know they were created as a weapon, I guess I just never imagined they could be a _useful_ one." 

"Oh, a whip in the right hands can be magic," Whiplash purred. "I can use it to grab things, disarm opponents, assist in jumping, trip someone, silence them at a distance, disarm sensors and so much more. Anything a hand can do a whip can at greater range, and then some."

"Really?" Sucre lifted a hand up, imagining holding a whip and being able to achieve that kind of efficacy with it. "That sounds incredible." 

"Want to see?" Whiplash turned to his side and grinned. "I'd love to show you some other things I like doing."

"Really?" Sucre pushed himself up on one elbow. "Yes, of course!"

"Then come on," Whiplash grinned wider and made a rolling hop over his lover to land on his pedes, then turned and offered a hand up.

"Not here?" Sucre asked as he accepted the hand and slid gracefully to his pedes. 

"Nah, it needs space and objects," Whiplash grinned and walked him through more halls to a large empty room. It quickly flared to life with holomatter constructs ranging from acrobatic bars to stands with objects on them to a fully armed guard. Slender crystals, each no wider than the finger of a cassette, rose up in a pyramid formation atop one of the pedestals.

Sucre hummed in interest as he looked around, then pointed at the pyramid of crystals. "No way," he said, grinning. 

"What to see precision striking first?" Whiplash grinned at him as his whip appeared in his hand as a looped line of matte black that blended into him.

"I want to see whatever is your favorite," Sucre responded.

Whiplash nodded and walked over to a set of pole sticking out of the wall. They were spread too far to jump between and in no pattern that Sucre would discern. So he watched as Whiplash unfurled the whip into an undulating wave and he saw that this one was far more a weapon than any other he'd seen. Instead of a smooth thong he was used to, this one contained small abrasive bits that glittered in the light. That would hurt so much more to be struck with. It would probably take off plating like his in a strike or two.

"Let me be the first to say I'm very glad I've never been on your bad side," Sucre said as he settled himself down to watch, cross-legged with his hands holding his ankles. Whiplash cracked his whip and shot over a grin that made Sucre shiver.

"You almost were, once," Whiplash said. "Right after your batch came out, you were far too thoughtful to not be a security risk. That's why I followed you and teeked you praying."

Sucre smiled with a warm hum. "I never even noticed." 

"Then I did it right," Whiplash grinned and cracked the whip upwards to wrap around one of the bars, using it to swing his way up to a different one.

He landed easily, needing no more than a sparkbeat to gain his footing and balance, and a brief flick of his wrist made the whip release. He aimed at another pole and leaned back at the same time, and for a brief moment Sucre thought he would fall before the whip wrapped around right as his weight pulled the weapon taut. He used his arm to brake, then spun around the pole, using the handle to pull himself back up.

When he was upright again, the momentum of his spin carried him back and he pushed off with his legs into a backflip, and then midair pulled his whip back to him before reaching out to grab hold, stopping his fall midair and swinging him to another bar. 

All through the acrobatic dance Sucre watched, entranced by the agility and grace on display. That held until Whiplash was standing before him and dipped down into a bow as showy as any the courtesan gave after a performance.

Sucre clapped, grinning. "That was incredible," he said.

"Thank you," Whiplash purred happily as he righted himself. "So, the crystal pyramid next? See how many I can break without knocking any down."

"Why do I have a feeling that will be all of them?" Sucre teased as he rose and walked with Whiplash to the display. He draped himself over the ISO commander from behind and nibbled at his neck. "Will this mess up your aim?"

"Just make it a bit more challenging," Whiplash rumbled deeply, his own arousal fanned by the attention as he focused on the bottom row of crystals in the center and snapped the whip to shatter it.

He could teek Sucre's focus and delight as the pyramid itself remained standing. He aimed for the top crystal next, breaking it in two and pulling the whip back, then without hesitation took out the next row lower, one at a time.

Halfway down, Sucre's frame was burning against his. "Can you teach me?" the courtesan asked. 

"Yes," Whiplash purred with an eager flush in his field. "After I burn off some of that charge."

"Can't help it, you're molten," Sucre purred against his neck, only to have Whiplash turn in the embrace to claim his mouth in a kiss as hot as anything Sucre could recall.

A wicked grin crossed Whiplash's features as the kiss broke and he began to kiss and nibble his way down Sucre's frame.

"Mm, 'Lash..." Sucre's hands settled on his shoulders, then tightened when he realized the black minibot's intention. " _Whiplash_." The glossa that dragged over his abdomen made him shiver, and the palm that pressed to his spike cover drew a moan.

"Show me how much you want it," Whiplash purred, vibrating the spike cover under his lip plates. "I want to taste you, hold you as you lose yourself."

"Could've been a courtesan, that kind of dirty talk," Sucre hummed. His spike cover unlatched and the housing spiraled open, letting the pale silver tip circle upwards.

"Have been a courtesan, just not sparked to it," Whiplash grinned and x-vented hot air against the exposed housing before kissing the tip with teasing licks.

"Well, coming from--mmh--someone who knows, you'd be good," Sucre said. His hands moved up to Whiplash's helm as his own fell back, optics flickering. "Really, really good," he breathed as he extended into Whiplash's mouth. Every micron that was exposed was lavished attention on by lip plates, glossa and eventually intact while Whiplash hummed his pleasure at the compliment and his lover's pleasure. He kept his hands on Sucre's hips, stroking and teasing wires and gears as the spike extended and clicked into locked extension.

::You taste so good,:: Whiplash purred over the ultra short range comm. ::Your pleasure feels so very good. Can't wait to show you more. To show off until you can't stand the heat and jump me.::

::That won't be hard,:: Sucre hummed, thumbs circling the sensors on top of Whiplash's helm. ::Little harder--perfect,:: he x-vented, vents flushing out heat. 

Whiplash smiled and kept it up, teasing as he worked. He wanted the reward, he wanted it to last, and somewhere in the middle Sucre's systems decided that if he couldn't make up his mind, they would.

Fingers tightened and Sucre's hips jerked forward. He curled forward, and groaned when Whiplash's glossa rubbed his spike as his intake swallowed back, overloading a moment later. " _Whiplash._ "

Whiplash relaxed easily into the automatic motions and supported Sucre by the hips until he unlocked. Then he guided the relaxed, sated and lightly drugged minibot to the floor to snuggle against him.

"Mmm." Sucre curled around him. "Everything's all colorful and wavy now."

Whiplash chuckled and indulged himself in the relatively public snuggling he normally wouldn't allow. "I get all the best stuff. You're really good when you overload."

"Mhhm. Maybe I should wait a bit before trying that whip thing," Sucre said, looking up at his hand and turning it back and forth a few times.

"Likely a good idea," Whiplash agreed. 

"So what's the most interesting thing you've ever done with a whip in the field?" Sucre asked, giving up watching his hand shimmering for stroking Whiplash's chest.

Whiplash grinned immediately. "Well, I--" A comm pinged for his attention and when Whiplash saw the identity, he immediately sat up. "Nova is summoning me."

Sucre's hand pulled back. "Okay," he said. "How do I get out of here?"

"Someone will come escort you," Whiplash said, standing up and resettling his armor. "A breem, likely much less."

Sucre nodded. "I'll wait for them." 

"Thank you," Whiplash leaned down to kiss him softly and then was gone. He pushed his fluids through filters to remove the narcotics and activated a virus like code to flush the same from his electrical systems. Within kliks he was bowing deeply before the Prime in the mech's private washrack while Nova relaxed in the hot oil.

"Whiplash," Nova murmured gently, his voice like a caress around Whiplash's spark. He stretched an arm out. "Come here." 

"Yes, my Prime," he responded on reflex, for all he meant the devotion in the glyphs and his desire to be near was genuine. "How may I serve?"

Nova curled a hand around him and guided him close, into the oil until he was pressed against the Prime, a powerful hand rubbing up and down his back as he melted into the contact and lack of anger in his Prime's field. "You can accept an old mech's apologies." 

"Always," Whiplash breathed a sigh of relief that was bordering on bliss.

"Thank you," Nova rumbled, and continued to rub Whiplash's back as the mech completely melted against his master. "You shouldn't question me when I'm stressed, it will only make me yell and upset you. I don't want to do that." 

"I will get better at recognizing your stress," Whiplash promised.

"Good, it will make both of us happier," Nova said. His thumb brushed Whiplash's hip and his spike panel unlocked, a small _click_. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Let me pleasure you, my Prime," Whiplash moaned deeply in desire and all but dove into the hot oil to straddle the wide hips. His hands reached out to stroke the large housing. "Fill me to bursting."

"Yes," Nova rumbled, and pushed up. The housing spiraled open and Whiplash went completely under the oil to kiss and tap at the spike's tip that emerged. Nova's pleased hum was bliss as it rumbled through his frame. Strong, gentle hands rested on Whiplash's frame and he felt completely safe and at peace with the world, a high that lasted long after Nova had spilled into him and left him shuddering against his armor.


	4. Beaten by a Prime

Over the vorns of being lashed out at and then comforted, Whiplash and most of the surviving staff that interacted with the Prime regularly had gained something of an extra sense about when to hide and when it was safe to be around him. Unfortunately all that knowledge was of little help when a furious Nova Prime demanded one's presence.

Whiplash crept into the grand office of the Prime, keeping low. His Prime needed him, and he was happy to serve, but Nova had warned him over and over against making him upset. If he became angry and took it out on Whiplash, he would later come to regret it, and Whiplash didn't want to cause his Prime any regret.

"Yes, my Prime?" he murmured.

"Have you heard what happened?" Nova growled, fury in his subharmonics as he gestured wildly towards the very large hole in the office's wall. 

"Yes, my Prime," Whiplash's internals tightened, then relaxed. He'd been in this position enough times to know how to give himself the best chance at surviving it long enough for the Prime to calm down.

"And I suppose you're here to tell me that they have not been brought back here in chains," Nova rumbled. 

_Frag_

"No, my Prime. They have not been captured," Whiplash answered truthfully. He had no choice. Even if it had occurred to him he couldn't have lied outright to the Prime.

"What are you going to do to bring them to me?" Nova demanded. 

"The best hunters have been set on their trail. Their arrest warrants have been sent to every agent. If they show themselves anywhere in the empire they will be found," Whiplash prayed it would somehow manage to be enough.

Nova paced back and forth, alternating between glaring at the damage and glaring at Whiplash. "If that is your strategy, why are they not recovered yet?"

"They are good. Sometimes capture takes time," Whiplash winced internally.

"Well _I_ don't want this capture to take time, so you are going to stand there and explain to me why you did not have anyone on the ground looking for them until _I_ thought to request it!" Nova roared, pointing straight at Whiplash. "Up, get up on your pedes, and explain why there were not sufficient forces to take them down joors ago!" 

Whiplash obeyed, part of him calm and accepting that this might be the time he didn't survive a rage. The rest of him, the part that had allowed him to survive as long as he had, was howling at him to dodge the blow he knew would come and knew he couldn't escape.

"We were not aware of their treason until less than a joor ago," Whiplash murmured, his helm bowed, and it hurt, it _hurt_ so much for him to see the pair leave. They could have helped Cybertron.

"Well you _should have been!_ " Nova roared, and the strike came high and fast, fist connecting with Whiplash's chest, the force of the blow sending him sideways into the wall. " _You should have known!_ You should have known they would betray me, like you'll betray me, like everyone will betray me!"

Whiplash went completely lax at the first impact, remained lax as he slid down the wall. He tried to remain on his pedes despite damage warning and spinning gyros. Punches were much easier to survive than stomps.

He had to survive, for Cybertron.

For Nova, he corrected quickly, as the next hit barreled into him, crushing him between Nova's fist and the wall. He crumpled, was lifted, and slammed into the floor. Damage warnings flared and Whiplash gasped as energon flooded his vents.

Everything moved so fast, he didn't have enough time to to brace for the pede that connected with his frame and sent him across the room. The momentum brought him up to the gap in the office floor and he scrambled at the last second to stop himself from falling. He held there, legs dangling off, and stared up as Nova stalked over to him.

"Get out of my sight and stay there," Nova said, and his pede connected with Whiplash's helm, knocking him from the office. 

The freefall was relaxing in a way, hard coded reflexes forced every system he had to relax for the pending impact to lessen the damage. Though given the red alerts scrolling by his vision it wouldn't matter much. The odds of him surviving were low.

And then he wasn't falling, before he expected to hit he ground. 

It took him a long, long moment to realize what had happened, and it was only after seeing the hand curled around his hip that he figured it out. Someone had caught him.

"Put me down," he said, very clearly. 

"Soon as we're on the ground," the flier agreed, angling down a bit more sharply.

"Put me down, let go!" Whiplash twisted despite how battered his frame was and the flier very nearly lost his grip.

"Hey! Stop that! You'll be on the ground in a klik." His rescuer had to rapidly adjust his flight path to keep them balanced.

Whiplash clawed upward, but the damage to his frame made him ineffective and he wasn't able to break the grip before he was being carefully settled on the ground. "Go away," he rasped. 

He could _feel_ the confusion in his rescuer as much as teek and see it, but the flight frame left him in the shadow near the base of the building. He was sure there were other agents nearby, likely trying to decide what to do about his behavior. He curled in on himself, dismissing warning after warning. Nova wanted him here. Nova had hurt him, so Nova wanted him to be hurt.

"Don't touch me," he growled to the first who tried to approach him, and was relived when they obeyed. He also found himself filled with incredible sadness that he wouldn't be able to protect Nova and Cybertron after this. They both needed him, but he would not try to escape the punishment his Prime wanted him to endure.

He'd lost track of time, drifting in and out of a bleary daze as he waited for either deactivation or instructions from his Prime. He felt moments of anger that Nova would stop him from helping Cybertron, deep in his spark.

Large engines racing towards him pulled Whiplash from his contemplation and when he focused, he immediately tried to get himself upright to face his Prime. Nova was headed for him.

The Prime transformed next to him, crouching down. "Oh, Whiplash," he said, and looked around. "Where are the medics!" he roared. "He needs help!" He turned back and carefully got his hands under Whiplash's frame, lifting him. Whiplash hissed in pain and grabbed Nova's wrist. "Oh, my dear Whiplash, don't worry, it'll be okay, I'm here. They'll have you repaired in no time."

The ISO medical team that had undoubtedly been waiting nearby were the first to approach and Nova turned on them with a snarl. "How dare you leave him here like this!" 

"He ordered us away, Prime," Medice responded promptly as the two junior medics hovered just behind her with their optics on Whiplash. "May we repair him?"

"If you don't I'll have you decommissioned," Nova told them, and handed Whiplash into the medic's waiting arms.

"Necci, alt mode," Medice ordered, and immediately transferred Whiplash to the assistant once the berth had finished folding out. She started running scans and making repairs immediately, as Nova hovered over. As soon as she deemed Whiplash stabilized and hooked into a drip, she pushed the berth into Necci and he closed up. She looked at Nova Prime. "Do you wish to follow, Prime?" she asked and offered all in one far more politely than most heard.

"No, just take care of him," Nova said, and his engines rumbled in warning. "If he deactivates, so do you." 

Medice simply bowed her helm and transformed to follow the two junior medics into the great palace complex and down to her domain to put her boss back together.

* * *

Whiplash booted into the slow, pointedly deliberate medical sequence that told him things had been very bad well before enough memory access told him how he'd been so badly damaged. He teeked the medical twins and his SIC nearby, none of them happy but none afraid either.

"So I take it I'm not going to deactivate," he said dryly. 

"Not for lack of trying," Larua replied in the same tone. "That coding is going to get you gray one of these orns."

"Not if the Prime doesn't damage me," Whiplash muttered.

Seris frowned. "The loyalty code?"

Larua nodded. "He's from an old batch, pre-progs didn't get as much mental freedom back then. He's got that absolute devotion, but it twists sometimes. Like forbidding him to seek assistance or repairs for Prime-given damage. The damage is coded as a punishment and he can't escape that from a Prime."

"I'm sitting right here," Whiplash complained.

"It's just as true whether you're sitting here or not," Larua said.

"So, I watched the security feed. Anything happen that it wouldn't show?" Seris asked grimly.

"I don't think so," Whiplash said. "Nothing that I edited, anyway."

"Then he wasn't overcharged, intoxicated, or otherwise anything but misdirecting anger," Seris sighed. "One could hope."

"How is the search for the deserters going?" Whiplash asked.

Seris shrugged. "About as well as one would expect when the deserters are Dai Atlas and Axe. They went to ground and vanished. I don't think they're on the planet, maybe not even this solar system."

"Slag," Whiplash muttered. "How is Nova taking it?"

"No one's told him yet," Seris huffed. "He only shifted back to semi-lucid a couple breems before he went looking for you."

Whiplash held his helm in his hands. "He's always come out of it."

"This has been building, I know you've seen it," Seris said. "What are we going to do?"

Whiplash x-vented. "We're going to serve the Prime who bears the Matrix." 

* * *

Whiplash knew as soon as he stepped into the Residence that he'd been spotted, and he waited with patient amusement for the small network of courtesans to get word to their brother that he was here. He could hear their whispers and pedefalls, even though they were trying to to stay quiet. It was an admirable effort.

And it ended with Sucre slipping out from one of the rooms after one of his batch-mates took his place, so he couldn't complain.

" _You're okay!_ " The relief in Sucre's field wrapped around him as tightly as his arms did. 

"Yes, all is well again," Whiplash relaxed into the embrace and welcomed the rare treat of being cared for. "There is nothing to be worried about."

"Oh, I do beg to differ," Sucre said, and his hand slid down to Whiplash's. "C'mon." He tugged Whiplash with him towards one of the empty rooms. The ancient assassin willingly followed, happy to be under the control of another for a while. His spark and coding both welcomed it.

The door closed behind them and Sucre let go of Whiplash's hand and crossed his arms over his chest, x-venting and facing away. "Nova almost killed you."

"As is his right," Whiplash sighed. "I've survived four insane ones, false Primes, forgotten Primes."

"But Nova isn't going anywhere anytime soon," Sucre said. There was a beat of silence. "Tell me I'm wrong." 

"You aren't wrong," Whiplash refused to lie. "He's still very strong and he's been Prime a long time."

"So he could still kill you," Sucre said, and turned around to look at him. "And you wouldn't be able to let anyone save you." 

"It can happen to any of us," Whiplash sighed. "You couldn't say no to a noble wanting snuff. Do you think I don't think about that every time one of them asks for you?"

"That's not fair, it isn't the same," Sucre said, glaring at his lover. 

"It _is_ the same. It's coding demanding we surrender our frames to our function and return to Primus, ready or not," Whiplash sighed and reached out for him. "I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," Sucre grumbled, and reached back, slipping his hand into Whiplash's. "You will have to deal with me being pissed at your programmers for a while." 

"I can survive that," Whiplash pulled him close. "I just want to be held for a while," he murmured. "Every part of me still aches."

"Don't doubt for an instant that's exactly what I'm going to do," Sucre said easily, and guided Whiplash's helm to his shoulder. "Do you want to stay here or be in your own quarters?" 

"Here's good," Whiplash sighed at the welcome comfort and willingly went where he was guided to lay down. "Not stressed, just sore."

"Then I think a massage, too," Sucre said, and kissed Whiplash's helm before settling him on his back. "You're not allowed to leave me either, okay?"

"No desire to," Whiplash let out a soft sound as skilled hands went to work easing his aches.

"Good," Sucre hummed. He paused for a moment, then leaned in and brushed a light kiss against Whiplash's mouth. "I really like you, you know," he murmured. 

"Mutual," Whiplash sighed in pleasured contentment.

* * *

Whiplash pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood in the middle of the deserted streets. Energon riots had been raging for orns, calling him and his crew halfway across the planet after the local unit had gotten involved. Frames were everywhere, businesses destroyed, homes razed. Nobles and commoners alike were among the deactivated.

And Seris, killed in a firefight.

Whiplash was used to losing officers, but Seris had been around longer than most, and it hurt. It was the way of their life, but being the one to outlast them all always hurt.

Whiplash sighed and lowered his hand to look around. The mecha here lived in extreme inequality. Some starved, some bathed in energon. Whiplash's spark ached for what he'd seen in the alleys. Cybertron was rotting and no one seemed to notice or care. Not anyone who could make a difference, anyway. 

He was going to be here a while.

 _Which means safe from Nova_ a traitorous part of his spark whispered.

He started comming in all the clean-up crews as he ran his visor through layers of filtering to look for chemical and gasses that would need special attention.

"You okay?"

Whiplash glanced up at Adobe. He'd pulled her from a forced trining a few centuries ago, to later discover that she wasn't full Seeker and her creators had tried to hide it with the trine, forcing her to pretend she had the code for it. She'd been beaten when she failed to read wing 'cants properly, and had taken vorns to be coaxed into believing in her own self-worth.

Whiplash looked back. Every single agent on the ground around him had a story, and he knew and had touched the lives of all of them. "I'm fine," he said, and put his hand on the small of her back. "More worried about you, I know this is a lot."

"I'm good," she assured him. "I'll let you know if that changes."

"Good," Whiplash said. "Do me a favor and do a sweep from above, take a look for any remaining pockets of activity."

"Sure thing," she said, and launched into the air.

Whiplash watched her go, then started moving among the deactivated, working on recovering or destroying any ISO hardware that shouldn't find its way into the wrong hands. If he got back to Iacon this metacycle, he'd be surprised.

* * *

When Whiplash dropped from the small shuttle onto the roof of the palace he knew something was wrong. The very building buzzed with tension. The guards were too alert, afraid rather than confident. He'd been told that the Prime had thrown a couple of epic tantrums while he'd been gone. He hadn't realized that in less than two metacycles things had gone so far.

He slipped around them easily. He was by far the oldest being that lived in the palace and knew it better than any still functioning. Even so he waited until he had found the Prime and had watched him pacing restlessly in his office, ranting in a language even Whiplash had difficulty following.

Finally Whiplash pinged the local ISO net and asked for the shift commander.

::I'm so glad to have you back.:: The relief in Nightstalker's voice was unsettling. The division chief of Kaon was a tough mech to rattle.

::What's happened?:: Whiplash asked, really wishing he could just go find Sucre and relax instead of dealing with whatever fit Nova had thrown.

::Nova's been stalking the Residence and refusing to perform his duties, it started with him yelling about mecha watching him. He threw everyone out of the Residence.::

Whiplash froze. ::Everyone?::

::Every visiting noble, even our own agents,:: Nightstalker confirmed. 

::We're the only two in the entire Residence?:: Whiplash was trying to wrap his processors around the rather sudden and sharp degradation.

::I'm not technically even in the Residence,:: Nightstalker said. ::Nova made those orders very clear.::

::Understood,:: Whiplash carefully moved to leave the Residence as quickly as he could as well. ::What of the courtesans?:: 

::Also gone. His personal three are locked up, all the others were released from palace service.::

Whiplash bit back a curse. Of all the rotten timing. ::How is Sucre's assessment going?.::

::...Who?:: Nightstalker asked, his tone clearly indicating that he knew Whiplash wouldn't be happy with that answer. 

::A courtesan slotted to be picked up when his contract was terminated. I expected him to be among the best we acquired this generation. Were they taken to the temple as usual?:: Whiplash managed to keep it professional.

::The courtesans? Yes, little more than a metacycle ago. I imagine their contracts have all been sold by now,:: Nightstalker said. ::I'll try to find the records, but honestly, it's been a little chaotic around here.::

::I'll do it,:: Whiplash kept the stress from his voice. ::The temple here knows me well and I know its records. I'd be the one going to get him from his new owners anyway. Comm me if you need help. This isn't my first show.::

::Sure thing, thank you, sir,:: Nightstalker said. 

* * *

It had taken almost three orns when combined with catching up and helping out as he could with his duties, but finally Whiplash had the address of Sucre's current owner. At least, he had the address of the contract holder's business. That didn't always mean the courtesan would be at the property, or that they were even still functioning. But this was where the trail took him, and Whiplash wasn't even trying not to speed as he made his way across the city, going further and further into the poor areas. It wasn't the gutters by a long shot, but this was not a section of the city reputable mecha liked to go.

In many ways, it felt rather like home. Whiplash had spent so much time in zones like this he blended into them smoothly.

When he pulled up to the building his hopes rose just a bit. A brothel club. It wasn't a nice one, but places like this rarely saw snuff. The cost of paying for a pleasurebot's future profits was simply too high for the locals.

He transformed up and walked inside, getting hit immediately with the heavy ozone and scent of cheap high grade. Beneath it was oil, crud, grease. Music covered the sound of scraping and joints that were in desperate need of care.

"Table for one?" the bouncer asked. 

Whiplash nodded and settled into the mindset of one who was browsing but did intend to buy. He was lead to sit at a small table, but tall so he could still see around the room. A bar served the mostly-silent patrons, who were all watching the dancers on a small center stage. Whiplash tapped his fingers for a standard high grade and looked around.

A small room, much smaller than the building could support. Not nearly enough frames in this room to account for the traffic he'd seen moving in and out. Doors in the back, bouncers on either side, but it looked like anyone could go in. No great surprise that most of the business was interfacing. Still, there were procedures here and if he wanted to find Sucre he needed to behave for it.

So he watched the dancers for a while, then stood to wander towards one of the interior doors.

The bouncer held his hand out. "Twenty creds for open use. Berth costs more."

Whiplash nodded and handed over the credits, pleased when there was no more fuss as he went inside. A sweeping glance showed him a fairly large room with half a dozen mecha of various types tied face down to planks with their arms and legs strapped around trestles on adjustable legs so mecha of any height could use them. They looked gagged, and barely able to move. His optics found Sucre almost immediately, the slender minibot taking in a spike that was nearly as wide as his leg.

Whiplash studied the scene for a moment, the noise from the room masking the growl in his engines. He wanted to drop the one using his lover and simply take Sucre out of here. Buying the owner off was optional despite knowing the rules he had long insisted on. Instead he walked up when the big brute was done and ran a hand along Sucre's back, getting a good feel for his state while he lowered the rig to his height.

The field didn't respond to him right away, and it felt dull, but after a few moments of Whiplash's hand on his plating Sucre roused, field coming alive as his helm snapped around. Bright optics, almost white, found the black visor. 

"Are you willing to serve me to be out of here?" Whiplash asked quietly.

Sucre's field screamed the answer, though the gag prevented him from vocalizing it. _Yes!_

"All right," Whiplash said calmly as he began to undo the bindings.

"Hey, no moving the merchandise!" a bouncer growled at him, drawn in by the sound of the bindings.

"I want this one in a berth," Whiplash replied, appearing unruffled. Really, a joor in a room would let him get some energon and basic repairs done. It would also give his eventual purchase more legitimacy when it came.

The bouncer huffed and stalked forward. "How long?"

"A joor," Whiplash shrugged, earning a bit of surprise from the bouncer.

"Fine. Six hundred," he held his hand out and actually checked more carefully before the payment disappeared into his subspace.

It was an outrageous price, and Whiplash knew it, but he'd have paid it one thousand times over if it had been demanded. That wasn't even close to what the contract would cost him.

"C'mon," he murmured, against Sucre's audial so only he could hear, then shoved a bit more roughly. "Move it," he said, voice raised.

Sucre stumbled a little, giving Whiplash a good idea of the joint damage. Otherwise not bad. Hips dislocated, probably torn internally. Surgery, eventually, but workable for the current moment as they were shown to a simple, dirty room that was little more than a box big enough for the single berth of their size. He pushed Sucre towards it and the mech stumbled to flop down on the unpadded surface with a sound of relief.

"Relax," Whiplash murmured and pulled a cube of energon from his subspace. "Drink up while I work on that hip."

The energon was gone quickly and Sucre shuddered as Whiplash started to work at the joint, feeling out the damage. A moment later, the hand on his helm and the thumb that ran across his sensor horn made him pause and look up.

Sucre's field was swamped with _relief_ , but it was more than just for himself. Whiplash teeked carefully, gradually realizing that there was relief for _him_ as well. 

Whiplash glanced away briefly even as he leaned into the contact and purred softly at it. "It's all going to be okay. A real medic will see to you soon."

Sucre nodded and relaxed, but kept his hand on Whiplash's helm as the ISO mech worked. Other than the occasional shudders and the sharp hisses from his vents, he held remarkably still. Whiplash was proud of him.

It took close to half the purchased joor to finish the repairs that wouldn't require a medic and in that time Sucre willingly downed a second cube of energon. Whiplash looked over the joint one more time before sitting back onto his heels and looking up at Sucre, who managed a smile in return, then tilted his helm in a question and tapped the gag around his neck. 

"I'd rather do that with the code," Whiplash tried to soothe even as he ghosted fingers along a dataport.

Sucre nodded in understanding and let the data port spiral open. Whiplash plugged in and pulsed affection and warmth between their fields as the handshakes were made and Whiplash allowed in.

~I regret that no one who knew we always intended to take you in when you were discharged was around in that chaos,~ Whiplash murmured in the privacy.

~You did?~ Sucre asked, optics widening. 

~Yes,~ Whiplash sat on the berth next to him and caressed his frame. ~It's policy not to tell those who are happy until they're about to be transferred. Only a handful of officers knew and we were all out of the Residence.~

~What would I even do?~ Sucre asked, gripping Whiplash's hands. ~I don't have any real skills. Or are there ISO pleasurebots...?~ His field brightened hopefully. 

~There are. Such mecha also become spies, interrogators, undercover agents, assassins and many other things,~ Whiplash pushed reassurance through both field and hardline. ~Your quick possessor and ability to think as a philosopher and scientist are what we want you for the most. It is not something to worry about now. A function will be found that you will enjoy.~

Sucre nodded uncertainly, and Whiplash could see that he was having trouble with the thought of a change in his function. He also seemed to be hesitating, torn about what his next words would be. Whiplash waited patiently.

~Do you know...~ Sucre finally began, voice soft. ~Do you know what happened to my brothers? Is there any way...~

~Some, perhaps,~ Whiplash sighed. ~I don't know how many. Who were you especially close to?~

~Cocoa, Mereng, Tart...~ Sucre trailed off and shuddered. ~All of them. I miss them so much.~

~I know,~ Whiplash said. ~I still miss my batch-mates, and my mentors. And every agent and Prime I've lost. Even the troubled ones. The pain will dull in time.~ Whiplash rested their helms together and held there while Sucre tried to cope with the massive amount of change that had been handed to him. 

A little less than a joor later, minus a good handful of credits, Whiplash walked out the front door with his prize, and entered the code for the gag's lock, pulling it off and tossing it into the road to be crushed.

"I was so worried about you," Sucre said, throwing his arms around Whiplash. "They kept showing the riots on the news reels. Were you hurt at all?" 

"No. I lost good mecha, though nothing I didn't expect to happen eventually," Whiplash murmured, hand resting on Sucre's back. "Can you transform easily?"

"I think so," Sucre said. He stepped back, hesitated, then slipped his hand into Whiplash's and kissed him softly. "Thank you," he whispered. 

"You're welcome. Let's go home," Whiplash whispered. He wanted more so badly he ached, but there would be time for that after repairs, recovery and settling Sucre into a function he could hold while testing and training went on.

* * *

Sucre did little more than glance around his new quarters after what was easily the longest, most exhausting orn of his existence with the knowledge that this was still merely the testing phase. Training would be much more rigorous.

With a groan he belatedly left a message for Whiplash that his company would be welcome if he wished and collapsed on the berth. It wasn't soft by the standards of his first function, but compared to what had happened next it was blissfully indulgent. The room was much the same. Small, without windows or decorations, or even shelving. The simple berth was high enough that he could easily look or crawl under it, and the desk, if one could call it such, was little more than a piece of sheet metal on simple round legs. Despite all that, it felt safe here. Not comforting, not the way Whiplash meant it with his sparely decorated space, but it was safe. In time he'd have it decorated as he liked.

Every part of him ached. His frame ached, his spark ached, his mind ached from the barrage of tests they'd put him through, tests that he'd probably failed completely and in every way. He missed his function, missed his brothers, couldn't stop wondering where they were and if any of them were still safe and happy. They'd been sold at rapid auctions to low bidders, and Sucre was sure he'd been one of the lucky ones. Pre-progs thrown out by the Prime were lucky to even find a roof over their heads. 

That thought blended into the next moment of awareness when his designation penetrated and kicked him into a rapid boot. By the time he had motor control it had sunk in that it was Whiplash speaking from some distance. It was the main thing that had changed between them. Whiplash never approached him in recharge anymore. He was treating Sucre as an agent now, someone with dangerous reflexes. 

He waved his hand in an incoherent move towards himself and relaxed when he heard Whiplash walk over and then more when the teek was warm, affectionate and calm. Without a sound between them Whiplash sat on the berth and began to rub and soothe abused cabling.

"'S my job," Sucre grumbled. 

"It is mine as well," Whiplash soothed. "I am your handler, and more, you are the battered one."

Sucre sighed and turned his helm so he could see Whiplash, and focused on the knees that were at optic-level with him. "Battered," he murmured, frowning. 

"You've been through the Pit, and now you'll survive a brutal training," Whiplash tried to soothe. "You have so much potential you can be almost anything in ISO."

"I still have trouble believing that," Sucre said, and let his optics flicker offline, melting into the touch from the trusted field. "This isn't what I was made for."

"No, but it is something you can become happy with, if you can accept it," Whiplash spoke carefully. "There will always be part of your existence that indulges the courtesan."

"Are there others who have come from a courtesan function?" Sucre asked.

"Many," Whiplash said.

Sucre thought about that for a few moments. "What do they do?"

"Everything," Whiplash answered honestly. "Your core coding to perceive, understand and use what another desires is extremely useful in processor doctors, interrogation, recovery specialists, recruitment, undercover, security and much more. Data mining, economics, statistics and the like are some of the few that don't lean heavily on what you are as a courtesan, though they are not barred if you enjoy it."

Sucre nodded. "I'll keep thinking about it. Anything useful from all those tests yet, or are they really just designed to scare mecha off?"

"Oh, by the time we test, we're pretty sure a mech's going to make it," Whiplash chuckled while his hands and hand magnets continued to work. "It didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, though it's good to have baseline stats. I'd like to start you off in recovery, recruitment or security. Eventually I intend to train you as broadly as I am."

"Mmkay," Sucre hummed. He was quiet for a few kliks as Whiplash moved diligently over his frame. "...Is there any news about any of my brothers?"

"I found three more," Whiplash murmured. "They're not all good. Do you want to know?"

"Yes."

Whiplash sighed. "Ginger has the best news, he went into a private home and is doing well there. He is a companion to the pair that bought him and watches over their two creations. Strudel is in a club, not much different from the one I found you in. The owners seem to recognize what they have and have shown interest in his upkeep. They try not to let the rougher mecha handle him. Cocoa--"

Sucre flinched.

"You don't have to hear this," Whiplash said gently, touching the back of the courtesan's neck.

"I want to know," Sucre snapped, a little too sharply, before he flinched again, this time from a snap of his code in reprimand for using his voice like that.

Whiplash nodded, and didn't stop rubbing Sucre's neck. They'd need to take a look at some of the finer details of that code still. "You can yell," he murmured. "You're one of mine now, and that means I'm here for whatever you need."

"I know," Sucre said. "What happened to Cocoa?"

Whiplash waited a beat, then sighed. "I found him in the gutters. I don't know what happened before that, and it was too late to save him."

Sucre shuddered and his hands curled into fists. "You're sure it was him?"

"I'm sure," Whiplash said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sucre said. 

Whiplash hummed softly and tried to work out the best phrasing for a klik while he continued to massage. "What would soothe you the most right now?"

Sucre sighed and was quiet for a few moments. "Well, what you're doing now is good," he said. "Got time to stay a bit?"

"Yes," Whiplash promised. Sucre nodded, then scooched over on the berth and tugged Whiplash to join him. The matte black minibot crawled on next to him and they folded together. 


	5. Fearing a Prime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone that "Just Say No" screwed up a little too much (like me), skip lines after  
>  _"Ready for a pain patch?" Sucre asked when he teeked that rest was being hindered by the aching._

Whiplash dropped down from the ceiling right on top of the Prime's messenger, knocking him offline with his palm magnets on either side of the mech's helm. The stack of datapads scattered and Whiplash sat down and started pouring through them. He was forbidden to spy on Nova, and there were too many important things on the docket right now for any of them to catch him off guard. Thus this was the best way to keep an optic on the Prime. Orders, demands and correspondence was almost as good as being there when it came to how stable a political figure was.

Nova ... he was as damaged as any in Whiplash's memory. He needed help. He needed to be cared for. Instead coding demanded that Whiplash and the others stay away, so they did. When he found the datapad that he was most anxious about, his spark sunk. Looking Glass was a well-known social activist who had done wonders for the poor of Cybertron in the last decade. He'd started his career out as a journalist calling out and investigating corruption in the higher levels.

Last metacycle, he'd been found spying on a Senator during a business trip. Nothing had been illegal, technically, but he'd been arrested anyway. Now he was on his way to ISO for interrogation and execution.

Normally, he'd have welcomed having a new plaything for his interrogators and a new target for his killers.

Normally, he knew full well the mech deserved it.

Normally no longer applied.

He didn't want to execute an innocent protecting Cybertron. He wanted to torture one even less.

What else could he do though? These were orders.

He bit his lower lip as he stared at the orders, looking between them and Nova's grand door, shut and locked. Maybe he was in a good mood. Maybe he could listen to reason. 

Maybe ... maybe Looking Glass just needed to _go away_?

Whiplash shuddered as his coding snapped at him, but it didn't take long before he set all the datapads where they would have fallen if the aide had simply fallen and slipped away.

Once he got the order officially, he would ask if Nova cared about anything beyond answers and the mech _going away_. If Nova agreed, he could work with that, so long as Looking Glass worked with him.

It was worth trying for. 

* * *

More than a few of his agents were a bit confused that Whiplash insisted on handling this dead mech walking himself, from first contact to disposal. It wasn't normal and it lead to worry. Whiplash, however, simply had to. He'd pushed his coding hard just to get Nova to agree to having Looking Glass _go away_ without details, so long as he _went away_. Even now it was difficult to think of the way he was twisting his orders so this mech, if not his designation, could live.

Right now Looking Glass was in an interrogation room, likely very confused and hopefully scared halfway out of his wits.

Whiplash watched him for a few more moments before slipping in. "Looking Glass."

Looking Glass jumped a little, and flinched back.

"Do you understand what your sentence is?" Whiplash asked him. 

"I don't even understand the charges!" Looking Glass exclaimed. "I did nothing wrong!"

"You should know better than anyone on this planet that what a mecha is charged with can have next to nothing to do with what crimes they did or did not commit," Whiplash chastised lightly. "Do you know what Nova's order for you was?"

"No," the chained mech shook his helm.

"The Senator whose grounds you were arrested on, with no cause I will grant you, happens to be a friend of Nova's," Whiplash said. "That's why you haven't been released yet. And it's why Nova issued a sentencing for you without trial. He commanded you sent to me, to be interrogated, and then executed." 

All the color and charge drained from Looking Glass before he gathered himself. "The truth won't be hidden forever."

Whiplash folded his arms over his chest, tilting his helm as he looked at him. "I know," he said. "I don't want it to be. You're doing good work for Cybertron. That's why I don't intend to torture and execute you, much as some of mine have been itching for something to do. I _don't want that_ for you." 

"Then what happens?" Looking Glass asked more quietly and with far less defiance.

"I got Nova to agree to make you disappear," Whiplash said. "That means you go underground, you become one of us, you keep working for Cybertron but you do it from the shadows." 

"How does that help?" Looking Glass scowled. "The _people_ need to know."

"It helps you, for one," Whiplash said. "It helps me for another, and you help the people by helping stopping the things they don't know about instead of writing about them."

Looking Glass stared at him, then shook his helm, and something like _defeat_ seeped into his field. "Thank you for the offer, but no, I refuse to work for and with something so closely attached to the Prime."

"I'm trying to give you an opportunity to _live_ ," Whiplash said, staring at him. 

"And I appreciate it." Looking Glass looked honestly frightened, but he was steady. "I cannot betray my conscience. I would rather--" His vocalizer froze up and spit static for a moment. "I would rather face my punishment and deactivate with my designation than survive without it."

"ISO does good work," Whiplash insisted.

Looking Glass was suddenly looking at him with pity, and he shook his helm. "You might think that. You're one of so many who I was hoping to help. You take your orders directly from Nova, and I'm sure you're a pre-prog. You don't have a choice. Tell me I'm wrong." 

Whiplash stared at him for a long moment, trying to understand this creature that refused to follow the rules of the universe that he knew. Much of a true believer, but so much saner.

"You ... are not," Whiplash finally answered with difficulty, grateful that he'd locked the viewing room. No one needed to see him like this. "How can a designation be worth that?"

"My _integrity_ is worth that," Looking Glass said. "I couldn't live with myself if I chose otherwise. If you want to do something for me, make my execution public. It will bring more of this society's rotting core to light than I could accomplish in a lifetime." He looked at Whiplash sadly as the minibot tried to hide a choking sound. "I'm so sorry you have to do this. I know you don't want to. I wish I could free you." 

"Public. You know if I do that it won't be quick or clean. It can be easy here, pleasurable even," Whiplash was no longer sure why he was arguing, only that his spark was screaming at him to stop the runaway train this had become. He'd been so sure of an easy sell and now he was barely sure what his goal was.

"I know," Looking Glass said. His field shook. "The very fact that you want to give me that means more than you know. But so does the fact that no matter what you truly want, you can't say no to Nova. I'm sure you mean well. Thank you, but I will accept the fate that I feel is best for our planet." 

"I can have it public," Whiplash said numbly, confused and disturbed. "He didn't give any details there. I ... you are to be tortured first. Don't need to be aware for it."

"Thank you," Looking Glass said, and Whiplash could feel the steadying in his field of someone who was at peace with his fate, even if he was still afraid of it. "Thank you for what you've tried to do for me. Please know I don't hold this against you, only those who programmed you and those who control you now." 

"Primus will welcome you home," Whiplash offered the best comfort he knew how to the condemned. A phrase usually only heard by his agents when they were already mostly gone. With that he reached over and dropped Looking Glass into stasis.

This would not be a satisfying torture, but it would be done.

* * *

Whiplash lurked near Nova as he watched the execution. He kept his hand pressed over his spark, as if it could somehow help to dull the throbbing in his chest, as Looking Glass was melted alive. His screams were horrifying, as his battered frame was slowly dripping away. The vat beneath the execution table would collect the metal of his frame and ensure it never returned to the core of their planet.

And Nova was _happy_ to see it happen. Whiplash wanted to scream. The Prime couldn't even conceive of what this would mean, what Looking Glass was _doing_.

Whiplash himself couldn't comprehend it beyond the fact that this was bravery and dedication on a level far beyond his or any warrior he knew. It wasn't right.

How could a _Prime_ enjoy this?

How?

The screams only ended when the vocalizer itself began to melt away and Whiplash turned away once the sparklight began to gutter. Nova didn't need him right now, he was safe, there were agents watching out for him. The painful ache in his chest was only getting worse and Whiplash needed to get _away_ from the grotesque scene. 

He didn't even recognize the orders to his frame to move, much less where he was going. Even the berth in a nearly empty room barely registered as he shook and fought to keep his spark from twisting in on itself and damaging him.

How could he betray Cyberton like this?

Time passed slowly, every moment bringing a new, throbbing pulse into his spark. Whiplash wasn't sure how long he'd been there when he felt hands on his frame and he jerked up, focusing on pale, nearly-white fingers against his armor.

"Shh," came the murmur near his audial, and a palm settled over the center of his chest. "Let me in." 

His frame responding without his processors spread his armor wide and brought his chamber forward, spiraled open. He was on his back not knowing how he got there and then he didn't care with the first touch of Sucre's hand on his chamber.

"Thank you," Sucre said, voice low and smooth, and he was _caressing_ the black chamber, each brush of his fingers over the lattice making Whiplash shudder while the crackling pink spark reached out for his hand, leaders stroking and entwining.

It took so little to come undone.

So little for Cybertron to come undone...

"Focus here," Sucre told him. "Just on me, my dearest. What happened?"

"The executed ... asked for that," Whiplash struggled to get out. "Wanted that over a new function. Did no wrong. Helped Cybertron. Shouldn't have extinguished."

The _snap_ in his processors made him physically cringe. Nova had wanted him executed, so he _should_ have been. Whiplash's mouth worked as he tried to stammer out the correction that made his spark scream in agony.

Sucre's lips brushed over his, stopping the efforts. "No need to say it," he murmured. "I know. I know what you need to say. It's okay." His fingers wound with the tendrils, dipping into the chamber.

Whiplash's visor flared white, he gasped into Sucre's mouth.

"I'm here," Sucre said, and Whiplash felt spark energy against him and groaned as Sucre's fingers slipped away to be replaced by the reaching tendrils of his spark. 

It was bliss. The welcome. The comfort. The understanding. The acceptance.

It had been so long since he'd had a handler he'd all but forgotten how much he needed one.

The need to set it up so his successor didn't suffer without a handler as he did was the last thought Whiplash knew. Past that was floating comfort and letting go. Trusting the one over him to take care of him, to give him focus and make him see how to align spark and processors once more.

Sucre's promise to stay there for as long as he needed fell nearly unheard in the overload. His spark felt raw and Whiplash _hurt_ all over. Arms circled around him and drew him close and he pressed his helm to Sucre's armor and sobbed. 

* * *

When Whiplash roused he felt drained, numb and aching, but aware once more. Warmth surrounded him and he relaxed into it.

"Hey there." Fingers rubbed one of his sensor horns. "You're teeking like yourself again."

"Thank you," Whiplash murmured. He pressed into the touch but even more into the field and safety it represented. "Been too long."

"I know," Sucre said. He shifted a little now that Whiplash was online, moving more upright and settling Whiplash's helm in his lap. "You've been taking care of _everyone_ for so long. I don't want you to do that for me anymore. I'm getting really good training, and I have officers looking out for me, so I'm going to be here for you."

"Thank you," Whiplash whispered. He knew he should try to deter his lover from this, that taking care of others was his duty. It just felt so very good not to have to be the strong one for a little while. "It'll get worse."

"I feared as much," Sucre murmured. He got his hands under Whiplash's helm and pressed his thumbs to the sensor horns, massaging them. "You felt shattered last night." 

"Yes," Whiplash shivered and pressed into the touch. "Coding against spark does that."

"Is there any way I can tell your spark it isn't your fault?" Sucre huffed. "You can only do so much with what you've been programmed for."

"I know," Whiplash sighed. "It doesn't stop the hurt. I'll recover. Other Primes have made me do worse."

Sucre shuddered. "And Nova probably will, too. I'll get you through this. Would it help to talk about it?"

"I can't talk about it. I can't disagree with the Prime," Whiplash murmured. "What you did last night was great. Just hold me, keep me stable while he lasts. It's easier to talk about the old ones."

"Whatever you want to do," Sucre said, layering harmonics into his voice that would have been impossible without the specialized hardware. Soothing, honest, warm, open. 

In answer to them Whiplash relaxed further, all but burrowing into his lover's chest and holding there as a new series of tremors and silent sobs wracked his frame seemingly out of nowhere. Slowly he recovered, the emotional numbness spreading in a welcome ooze across his awareness.

A deep drought of air was drawn in, then released. "Spark?" Whiplash asked quietly.

"'Course," Sucre said with an easy smile. He bent forward to kiss Whiplash upside down, soft and tender for a few moments as his hands spread forward over the black plating. "You only ever need to ask." 

* * *

"Good," Whiplash said, adjusting the form of a mechling they'd just pulled out of the gutters. They'd found her after she convinced a recruitment Enforcer to unlock her stasis cuffs just by using the right harmonics. The promise of being treated like a person along with energon, upgrades, and repairs had easily gotten her into ISO. "You're doing really well, Cancer."

She grinned at him, delighted by the praise. "Does that mean I can get my upgrades, then?"

"Ye--" Whiplash stopped himself. "No. You've got three more vorns, and you're going to spend them working. And stop doing that."

She pouted at him. "But it's fun."

Whiplash regarded her, then huffed. "Do it to your other trainers all you like, every decision will just have to go through me first. They need the practice anyway."

"Aw, thanks 'Lash," she said, then grinned and grabbed him up in a hug.

Whiplash made a show of grumbling about it, then left her to her practicing as he slipped out and headed towards the next room. 

Sucre didn't notice him, though his trainer did. Whiplash nodded in silent greeting and watched for a few moments. Sucre was sitting absolutely still, concentrating.

"Good," his trainer rumbled, and Sucre smiled.

"How's it coming?" Whiplash asked, and Sucre perked, turning around with a warm teek.

"It's good," his trainer said. "Much better than last time, he's getting some real solidity behind his field and the mimicking is much improved."

"Wonderful," Whiplash said, and flicked his hand to dismiss the trainer. "I'll take over for a little while."

The trainer nodded and slipped out and Sucre rose to his pedes, gliding over to Whiplash to get a feel of his field. "All right? What brings you by?"

"Checking in on everyone," Whiplash said, leaning into Sucre's hand on his chest and brushing their helms together. "You're getting really good at disguising your field."

"Something to do in my free time," Sucre said, and looped his arms around Whiplash's neck. "I'll work my way through all the training if you give me enough time for it." 

"You know I will," Whiplash purred into a kiss. "I don't send agents out before they're ready if I have any option."

"I'm ready for basic undercover," Sucre hummed. "But I do like staying where I can be close to you."

"Is that what you want, to do undercover work?" Whiplash asked carefully.

"I..." Sucre stopped talking as quickly as he'd started, hesitating for a long moment. "Is ... that what you would want me to do?" he asked uncertainly.

"I want to know what you'd like. That way I can factor in all variables when deciding," Whiplash said with an internal sigh.

Sucre x-vented in frustration. "I know, I know. You know that can be hard to figure out sometimes." 

"I know," Whiplash promised.

"I want to be useful," Sucre said. "I do know that." 

"You already are," Whiplash said firmly. "Think on it and tell me when you know."

Sucre nodded and reached up to curl his finger under Whiplash's chin and tip his helm into a kiss. "Can you stay a bit?" he murmured. 

"Mmm, yes," Whiplash purred deeply and drew his lover close, willing to take pleasure and comfort where he found it.

* * *

An emergency comm ping from Iacon drew Whiplash's attention away from the fierce young killer that Cancer had found. The mechling was uncontrollable but for Cancer's gift, though he was improving slowly. Whiplash knew enough of the results of sparkling pits and snuff arenas to be honestly impressed by the progress she was making.

::What is it?:: he asked. Cancer saw his attention shift and she looked at him with a curious tilt. Whiplash motioned for her to continue with the lesson.

::It's Nova.:: Tappe, his SIC, had been assigned to watch the Prime while Whiplash was away. ::He's raging.::

::He's raged before,:: Whiplash said, not even flinching when the violent mechling's attention shifted to him. Cancer's call stopped him before Whiplash had to move.

::This is different. I can't pinpoint why, but it is. He was with his courtesans and it started out of nowhere, no provocation I could see. He's focused on them right now, but I'm worried it could shift.::

::Do you need me to come back to Iacon?::

::I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you were here,:: Tappe admitted.

Whiplash called for a high-speed shuttle before pinging Tappe with his ETA. Tappe was new to the position and still learning to feel comfortable in it. "Keep working with him," he told Cancer. "I'll be back to check in when I can."

"Sure, boss," she said cheerfully as he left to grab the shuttle.

In less than two joors Whiplash was dropping onto the palace roof. He'd watched as much as Tappe could send him on what was going on and he had to admit he agreed with his newest SIC. This was all kinds of bad. The surviving courtesans were not going to be long in their frames. Not against that rage.

By the time he got into the Residence, Nova had destroyed most of the art in his berthchamber and the surrounding luxury suites. His courtesans, the two he'd had from the very start of his reign, were still huddled together in a corner. Nova's attention continued to circle back to them, and Whiplash looked down from above as he began to roar accusations of spying at them.

"Never, my Lord, my Prime--!"

The horrified, gasping plea was cut off by a strike to the courtesan's helm. "You will face me!" Nova commanded and both faces turned up towards him. "In the arena, you will fight to prove your innocence! If you can't do that, then I will know you are guilty of treason." 

Briefly Whiplash considered options to save the pair, then allowed it to go. It wasn't worth the resources involved, or the risk. He was still shy about trying after Looking Glass. He still heard the mech's screams at random moments, and wondered why that death among the million's he'd known in his long existence had so traumatized him. Still, he would track this pair to see what he could learn until they grayed.

Guards stalked in and dragged the unresisting pair off.

::Should we stop this?:: Tappe asked.

::No,:: Whiplash said, climbing back up into the rafters and moving quickly through them to reach an exit. ::They aren't worth the risk. Don't let this become public. We need to manage Nova's image right now; he isn't wrong about there being spies. Keep the arena locked to the public and get as many mecha that we trust as possible in there. If something like this goes public, it might tip the balance in the wrong way.:: Not because of the courtesans; they were pre-progs, no one would care what their master decided to do to them. But Nova's rage, all over nothing...

It would not end well. There was already enough trouble for all classes and castes that the Prime's edicts caused strife in. There were rumblings of discontent from the gutters to the city thrones to the military. Dai Atlas and Axe were only the most powerful that had had enough. It was a truth as old as the first military mecha that they handled instability poorly. They simply weren't designed for lateral thinking. While it didn't create problems so long as victories were common, it created major ones when victories became rare.

They _had_ to keep this quiet. Not just for Nova.

Whiplash got to the arena and felt his spark throb painfully at the sight. They'd closed it, but not before some of the nobles who'd been in the area had gotten in. The rest was filled with faces Whiplash at least knew and mostly trusted.

But what _really_ hurt to see was the insane anger on Nova's face. Whiplash was watching his once-beautiful Prime crumble, and the roar he released as he dove towards his unresisting courtesans was layered with pain. 

Unlike most, they could fight back. Early on Nova had enjoyed the challenge as a berth game. Now neither one was willing to. Maybe they were ready to be done with his insanity, that the Well looked better than their frames. Maybe there had been a quiet order he'd missed. Maybe they were just in shocked denial.

No matter what caused their stillness, it did end their time in a frame quickly. A single strike and the femme went down, her spark gone before she hit the ground and began to gray while she bled out.

Her deactivation caused her brother-by-batch to startle out of his shock, enough to try to put up some kind of resistance, but Whiplash could see there was barely any will left. In the arena, it had become kill or be killed, and he wouldn't be able to kill his Prime.

He went gray little more than a klik later, crumpling next to his sister. Nova stood over them, then shouted and kicked their frames, fingers flexing, casting his gaze about for something, _anything_ else to focus the wild rage in his spark on. He had to be distracted, calmed down. That meant trying to talk to the enraged being, since he wasn't keen on sacrificing enough sparks to sate the madness.

"My Lord Prime?" Whiplash spoke carefully from just outside the arena, framed in the doorway the Prime walked through.

Nova's helm snapped around, gaze finding Whiplash. 

The minibot kept his frame and voice submissive, low. "Would my Lord Prime like to rest?" he offered, gesturing towards the exit. "He has been victorious in his battles, and he deserves to rest now." 

Nova's engines rumbled as he looked at Whiplash, and for a moment, the minibot thought he would be the next target. Then the optic light softened and his posture relaxed, and for a moment, Whiplash saw a sane mech bowing under the weight of his own actions.

Then it faded, and there was just a haze again. Nova nodded. "Yes," he said. "I do deserve to rest."

Whiplash hid his relief and walked to the side of his Prime. He even managed to coax him into the washrack so the outside wouldn't see their Prime splattered in energon.

Nova acted more like a mechling than anything else, largely allowing Whiplash to clean him. Whiplash let himself get lost in the task of caring for his Prime, and it created a peaceful buzz that settled all through him. He attended to his Prime's frame with reverential joy, leaving no part of him untouched and uncleaned.

By the time he finished, the arena had emptied and Whiplash led Nova out with him, back to his residence. He felt something change a few paces inside, a flicker in Nova's field that hadn't been there a moment before.

"Where are they?" Nova asked with an unhappy tone.

"Who, my Prime?" Whiplash tried not to tense.

"My courtesans," Nova scowled. "I want them to attend to me."

"My Prime..." Whiplash took a step away. He blocked most of it out, but the buzz of communications across the ISO network tripled as he moved. "Nova. They were charged with spying against you, they were unable to prove their innocence in battle." 

There was a moment of stillness, and that heartbreaking awareness moved across Nova's handsome features before it was gone again, replaced by fury. "How could you let such a thing happen?" Nova snarled. "It is your job to know these things!"

Whiplash shied back a step, as he felt genuine _fear_ , something almost entirely unfamiliar and nearly forgotten to him. "Nova," he said, trying to keep his voice smooth, "You approved their execution. You fought them in the arena. Don't you remember? You were powerful and victorious." 

"Yes, and where are my courtesans?" Nova demanded. "You should have known and had them replaced by now!"

"I will have some sent right away, and new personal courtesans will be commissioned immediately," Whiplash promised. He hated to think it, but Sucre was the most experienced and best qualified they had for the task. "Would you like to make any alterations to the previous order?"

"Yes. _Loyalty!_ " Nova snarled and lunged forward to grab Whiplash by the throat. "You'll just have to do until they arrive!"

"Nova--!" The cry was cut off as his throat was crushed in by just the strength of one hand and Whiplash saw _white_ as he was lifted into the air before being thrown across the room. His impact with the wall knocked his shoulder joint out of alignment, and he had no time to recover before Nova's weight bore down on him. Blows landed and he didn't fight any of them. _Couldn't_ fight any of them, no matter how scared he suddenly found himself. He didn't want to deactivate like this. He couldn't leave _Cybertron_ like this, in the grasp of an insane Prime--

Nova's spike ripped him open and Whiplash's frame seized up, a static-laced gasp the only sound his ruined vocalizer could make. As unprepared as he was, his frame still made itself slick for the Prime, and the sharp pain faded quickly once the broken hips had been dismissed. This wasn't the worst he'd survived, even if it had been a while.

As Whiplash's processors went fuzzy with the bliss of serving the Prime his frame did its best to rearrange internals to accommodate the abuse.

Everything got lost in the delirious haze of being full and hearing Nova's grunting above him. Whatever else was happening, he could give the Prime pleasure.

Nova's shuddering overload filled him and Whiplash's frame responded in kind before it was unceremoniously hauled up. Nova's grip crushed him and warnings began to flood his systems. Armor cracked, joints strained, Whiplash looked up through glitching optics at Nova's face, twisted beyond recognition, ugly. All he could feel was grief.

"You would do well to do better in the future," Nova snarled, then threw him to the ground and stalked away.

Whiplash's first intake rattled with the energon that was flooding his vents. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, his frame too broken to move, but it couldn't have been long. Three agents appeared out of nowhere on his glitching teek and he only absently was able to identify them. The connection between spark knowledge and processor knowledge was gone, leaving him with no more than a sense of safety at their presence.

He didn't feel the touch that dropped him into stasis, and wouldn't have cared if he had.

The next time he felt anything, it was a field that his surged into before any part of him was online. As his spark huddled there in the comfort of that touch his processors managed to come online, despite multiple protests from both of the medics that were plugged into him. He wanted to _know_. 

Suddenly that most wanted presence was in his processors with the medics. ~Shh, relax. All is well this moment.~

Whiplash relaxed and sank into that promise. He tried not to think about all the notices of repairs scrolling by, or what they meant, and just believed in that. ~My repairs?~

~Almost done,~ Larua said. ~You're jumpy to be online.~

~Prime will have new pretties to distract him before you're cleared to leave,~ Medice added.

~Damage control has been successful so far,~ Sucre volunteered. ~Tappe's handling him well.~

~Good,~ Whiplash murmured. ~I need to get back up there. How much longer?~ 

~You are on light duty for at least three orns. Don't make me weld you to this berth and lock down your comms,~ Medice rumbled.

~You wouldn't,~ Whiplash said.

~Try me.~

~Please cooperate with them,~ Sucre said, taking Whiplash's hand in his own. ~You were very nearly scrap by the time Nova finished with you. Trust your SIC. You chose him for just this reason. Cybertron is better served when you are fully repaired.~

Whiplash grumbled but couldn't actually find and fault in his lover's reasoning. Unlike the medic's threats, Sucre's insistence brought compliance.

~How is Nova?~ he asked quietly, and felt Sucre's field sour.

~He is happy with his courtesans,~ Sucre said, instead of what Whiplash could feel he _wanted_ to say.

Whiplash nodded, and by some silent cue, both of his medics unplugged.

"We'll finish up later," Larua said. "Ping when you're ready."

Whiplash nodded and turned his helm to watch them go, feeling the strain of new cables, before Sucre's hands were turning him back and the courtesan's mouth found his. The need there was intense and not a bit of it was normal arousal. Fear, relief, anger and frustration were deep in Sucre's field and mind as he pleaded without words for the merge where they would be honest without code interfering.

Whiplash's chest opened in answer, matched nanokliks later by Sucre's. Pink, lavender and ruby light shimmered between them briefly, and then coding fell away. 

~He will destroy us all.~ Sucre's fear and anger was given form here, without his coding stopping him.

Whiplash shuddered. He couldn't deny that here. He could barely deny it the rest of the time anymore. His spark throbbed with the grief of watching the Prime he'd so completely believed in crumble away. ~I know.~

~What do we do about him?~ Sucre asked for guidance.

~We try to control the descent,~ Whiplash said. ~There's only so much... It's delicate. Nova was loved.~

~Not so much now,~ Sucre reminded him carefully. ~He is feared by those who are known to him.~

~I have to support him to the end. I can try to hasten it,~ Whiplash said tentatively. ~He's too tied to the Empire to risk anything more drastic. The stability of the planet, the unity he created ... I won't risk that.~ 

~How can I support you in hastening his end?~ Sucre asked gently.

~Keep me calm,~ the spark whispered. ~Keep me at peace with myself. Don't talk about Nova's end. If I think you're trying to help destroy him, I could kill you.~ And the ancient spark was truly terrified by that possibility, and fully understood what its frame was capable of and what it would do to protect the Prime. 

~I will do that,~ Sucre promised, accepting both the threat and the fear it caused in his lover. ~Come, relax in pleasure for a time with me.~

Whiplash's spark pressed forward gratefully, happy to find solace with the spark that understood him so well.

* * *

Whiplash kept to the shadows behind the Prime's representative, someone that ISO had managed to get into his place for the Senate meeting. Nova mostly stayed in his Residence, soothed by an endless supply of patient, adoring courtesans. His representative spoke for him in his place while he was otherwise occupied, and while he lacked the authority to make any real decisions, he could offer grounded opinions on the behalf of the Prime.

The Senate was gouging the planet for its wealth, and they were sacrificing pre-progs and lower class citizens by the thousands in order to slow the loss of their galactic territory, but Nova couldn't make his decisions out of anger. Even Whiplash had to acknowledge that this was as bad as any time he'd seen. Never before were they in an expansion cycle when a Prime lost focus. Never before had they been stretched this thin under any conditions.

He longed to have Dai Atlas back. That general could hold and entire quadrant with only his army.

He longed to have the Nova he'd fell in love with back.

::He's coming!:: a half-panicked comm put Whiplash on alert less than a breem before the Senate doors were flung open.

"I will speak for myself!" Nova roared.

The representative bowed and backed away and Whiplash jumped into the light, ahead of Nova. He went down to his knees, crouched forward, palms flat on the floor and helm bowed. "My Prime, this is beneath your attentions," he said. 

"The goings-on of my planet are never beneath my attentions," Nova rumbled, and something about his tone made Whiplash lift his helm. In Nova's face, he saw the shadow of the once-great Prime. "On your pedes, Whiplash. You never need to kneel before me."

"Nova," Whiplash murmured, and stood.

"Please," Nova said, turning towards the gathering and gesturing with his arm. "Continue." 

With only a fractional hesitation, the Senate did so and soon the debate about how much funding to grant the Sparks of Mercy was in full swing again. To absolutely no one's surprise, most of the older Senators were not in favor of the charity organization getting any funding--coincidentally, talks of their own salaries were set to come up later today.

The arguments for and against, and how much for, droned on and on, while Nova stood mostly harmless, occasionally nodding or humming, showing no agreement with anyone in particular. Whiplash almost started to relax.

"Wait," Nova said, and Whiplash tensed. "Where did they receive their previous funding? I don't see that in their documents."

"House Mindsweeper, House Double Beat, and small donations," Whiplash responded carefully. "The bulk of their funding still comes from there."

"That doesn't make sense," Nova mumbled to himself, scanning rapidly through the document. "No ... no this doesn't make sense at all, these numbers don't add up. There's more going on here. I can understand why none of you noticed, it was so subtle, so _malicious._ But there can be no mistake. The numbers match up perfectly. They have been _stealing_ from my personal funds! I want them disbanded immediately, staff imprisoned, and the board will be executed."

Stunned silence answered him. 

Even Whiplash was stunned, but he recovered more quickly than most. "Yes, my Lord Prime."

He was only a few steps away when he began to open comm lines. ::You heard him. Start making up lists and what we can make happen today.::

::Sure, boss. We'll get them in custody and worry about the deskwork later.::

Whiplash left the Prime behind with the Senate against his better judgment, but he wanted to be in control of this situation and not let Imperial forces start to handle it. There were valuable mecha on that board, and if he could catch Nova in a sane mood he might be able to get a changed verdict. But it would only work of the board members survived that long.

Political trials could be drawn out, there was a lot he could do. He _had_ to get in front of this. 

Leaving Nova without a senior agent to supervise him with the Senate could get interesting, but Whiplash wasn't worried. There wasn't much he could do. It wasn't as if there would be a great loss to Cybertron if Nova executed the Senate where they sat. Chaos for a bit, but no great loss.

The mecha on the board of the Sparks of Mercy, on the other hand...

Whiplash shook his helm and opened up every comm frequency he had as those mecha were hunted down.

* * *

Whiplash was fighting not to twitch as he looked at the three piles of thinfilm on his desk. One for those sentenced to deactivation, one for those to imprison and had widely applicable skills and a third for those to be imprisoned that were special in a way that might make it easier to keep them in comfortable holding while Nova was Prime. He was grateful the two most difficult groups were relatively small.

It didn't change the fact that Nova wanted some of them dead, and the fact was, they were _good_ mecha. They were doing good things for Cybertron, they were all strong. Vodha, Rainshine, Soundwave, Santi and Luna Eve were all determined sparks who wanted to help those less fortunate. Their charity had made huge differences in low income areas.

He didn't want them to die. It was hard to think past that, but he _knew_ he had to do something. 

The chime requesting entry actually startled him halfway out of his chair, and he took longer than he liked to settle again and ping the door open for his SIC and his lover. Only when it was closed and locked did he address them.

"Tappe, Sucre. You are both here because I'm too old to trust myself with this. We cannot allow so many good strong sparks end this way," Whiplash paused as he swayed, caught in the grip of his coding.

"They would all be willing to go underground," Tappe said carefully. "If they were to ever be given the choice, that is."

Sucre moved to Whiplash's side, curling fingers around his neck and holding there with a steady field.

"That's all hypothetical, of course," Tappe said. 

"Yes, hypothetical. A powerful royal, senator wants them gone," Whiplash began to talk his way out of the coding snit and leaned heavily into Sucre's steady comfort. "Not a Prime's order."

"Not a Prime's order, just an exercise," Sucre encouraged the conversational shift.

Whiplash nodded and settled a little more. "Tappe, you're in charge of this exercise. Go through Sucre if you need my clearance for something. I want it done in a decaorn, but done right is more important than done on time."

"I suppose the best thing would be to fake the records," Tappe hummed. "Of course, those files will all need your ID to confirm anything. I guess my first step would be to have you do that."

"Could you fake something like that?" Sucre asked, voice low, calm. "Execution confirmation?"

"It would be much easier to get started with that on file, if we were doing something like this," Tappe said. 

"Execution, death in general, is easy to fake if you have time and resources," Whiplash chuckled softly. "Which with ISO, are in abundance. Some filing, a signature, public notice where no one really looks and it's done. Now, what about those," he motioned to the second smallest stack. "Mecha who are too specialized to disappear easily."

"I'd try to bring them into our fold, first," Tappe said. "Those who won't, or can't, can be sent offworld or even imprisoned underground until it's safe again."

Whiplash hummed thoughtfully. "We could certainly pick up a few very useful mecha that way." He nudged the stack of the board member sheets towards Tappe. "How would you handle them?"

"If we wanted to save them, put them deep underground," Tappe said, and gestured towards the files. "Those are all well known designations and frames. I'd change their appearance, rewrite their serials, give them new designations to go by. Of course, if I didn't care about how happy they were, I could just throw them all in ISO prisons and keep them there. Faking their deaths would be the best way to get a royal off their case. Especially once an order had already been issued. I could do that."

"You do care about how happy they are. We don't want any of them as enemies," Whiplash said firmly. "Especially not the 'path."

"Got it," Tappe said. "I'm pretty sure that they would have expressed interest in living, by now, if we'd asked them. So faking and hiding seems to be the way to go. And I'm guessing that's what you'd want me to do. Definitely the board members. I'm not sure about everyone we have as specialized. We can't save everyone. Make our offers, but the rest will have to go the way of the official orders." 

Whiplash nodded and opened his mouth to speak, only to twitch with a flash of pain sharp in his field.

Sucre's hands came to rest on either side of his helm, voice low and murmuring soothing nothings against his audial. Whiplash shuddered. All the hypotheticals in the world couldn't truly hide what they were doing.

He felt the tug of magnets making everything go fuzzy. "Time to rest," Sucre whispered. "Can you shut down?"

Whiplash tried. He couldn't. When he did, Tappe was going to defy the Prime. On his wishes. The pain spiked and the fight against killing Tappe where he stood tangled everything up. He couldn't, he couldn't--

The buzz got stronger, and Whiplash went limp. A haze crept over his processors and he watched through static as he slumped sideways and the world tilted.

_Time to rest._

* * *

"Ow," Whiplash muttered, and immediately regretted booting.

Sucre chuckled from next to him. "Succinct." A wonderfully cool hand came to rest on his forehelm. "You had a bit of a snarl. How do you feel?" 

"Rather like I was mauled by a Sharticon and spit into a trash compactor," Whiplash groaned. "Please tell me I don't have to that again today."

"I have no idea what a Sharticon is, but it doesn't sound pleasant," Sucre said. "And as far as I know, you won't have to. At least, not if anyone consults your medics about it. Larua compared it to untangling a knot made out of smaller knots, with snares in them." 

"Sounds about right by now," Whiplash groaned. "And be glad. They're nasty pieces of work."

"Mm. I'll just let my imagination run wild, then," Sucre said. "Tappe wanted me to tell you that he's felt successful while you've been indisposed."

"'Kay," Whiplash murmured, happy to relax on his berth, with his lover, and allow the aching to gradually fade. He willingly submitted to the gentle hands and quiet urging to allow himself to be fueled, to drink coolant and a few sweets he wasn't aware enough to do more than enjoy.

"Ready for a pain patch?" Sucre asked when he teeked that rest was being hindered by the aching.

"Very ready," Whiplash admitted, then gave Sucre's immediate mischievous grin a dubious look.

"I snuck a few extra," Sucre said, and held the stolen patches up in his fingers. "And..." His other hand moved into view, this one with a joint. "Any interest?"

"I really can't think of anything that sounds better right now," Whiplash said, and held his arm out for Sucre to plug one of the pain patches in, then watched Sucre take a deep draw on the joint. He tilted his head and smiled a little at the silhouette that the x-vent of vapor created, completely taken in for a moment as Sucre's features relaxed.

Then Sucre looked at him and saw the expression. "What?" he asked, and held the joint to Whiplash's mouth.

Whiplash took a deep intake, cycled the vapor through his systems, and x-vented. As the drugs and medical-created coding all started to mingle in him, the pounding ache in his helm finally started to let up. "Just, you," he said.

"Just me, huh?" Sucre repeated with a smirk, and encouraged Whiplash to take another hit. "Feeling any better?"

"Yes," Whiplash hummed and shifted to snuggle closer. "Going to be loopy, but better."

"Loopy's fine," Sucre said, and guided Whiplash to tuck his helm against his neck, holding him as he settled. "Just hope you can get some rest."

"Mhmm." Whiplash reached for Sucre's wrist and brought the joint down for one final intake, then slumped against his lover. tension gone from his frame. "Rest 's all yours," he mumbled.

Sucre kissed the top of Whiplash's helm. "Rest, now." 


	6. Fighting a Prime

"Remind me again why he isn't on our list," Sae said, as the Senator droned on about how a wage increase for the political elite would only help a struggling middle class.

Whiplash glanced up from the training reports he was reviewing. "Because he would be too easy, and too obvious. If you're going to kill someone, kill someone who's doing their harm _quietly._ "

Sae shook his helm. "They've raised their own salaries three times this vorn, and Nova's approved every one."

Whiplash twitched. "I know."

"All it's doing is taking away funding from the military, and without them, they won't even have a planet to rule before long," Sae said. "We're losing territory every orn."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a while as the session carried on, each new voice bringing some new triviality to light to be argued over. Finally, General Voltag was able to stand and claim the floor. "We must act quickly before the entire planet is threatened," he said.

Nova frowned. "What do you mean?" he rumbled.

"I mean that we are losing ground every orn," he said. "Our borders are shrinking in around us. We must give the conquered territory back to their original planets. If we act now, maybe our enemies will be once more just our neighbors, and choose not to destroy us."

"No one can destroy us!" Nova roared.

"We are only as invulnerable as our military is," General Voltag responded calmly. "Every vorn our funding has been cut to pay for their salaries."

"Our salaries are a sign of a booming economy," the Senator who'd championed for the raise earlier in the session scoffed. "Your forces are not affected by our just earnings. Your forces are crumbling because they fail to be motivated by those who lead them. Perhaps you should look to your own instead of seeking to place the blame on others." 

Voltag snorted. "If your salaries were really the result of the economy then you could raise them without cutting funding elsewhere or increasing taxes. You'd tie them to a percentage of the GIP, not real numbers. That's not what's happening now, is it? You know if you actually tied your salary to the economy you'd be paid far less than now."

"It's understandable that you don't grasp the political nuances of running a planet," the Senator said. "Since your experience is solely in protecting us. Something that you haven't done well as of late." 

"Because of cut funding. If Cybertron is doing so well, why is funding cut for something you need to do?" Voltag countered with growing annoyance. He turned to Nova. "Nova, my Prime, my _friend._ Please, I've known you for so long. You must understand what is happening right now. If you approve those measure that have been put before you today, measures written in _greed_ instead of love for all Cybertronians, you will be dooming us. When have I ever asked you for anything? When have I _begged_ before you, until now, when Primus himself is in danger from his own creations?"

Nova looked at Voltag without expression, then stood. "For the crime of opposing the Prime, you will face me in the arena to fight for your innocence, or perish."

Whiplash shot to his pedes, staring at the scene below. Voltag was not only loyal to Cybertron, but one of Nova's closest and oldest servants. The choice he made here could change Cybertron forever.

There was a small beat of hope in his spark, and a dizzying, painful buzz that filled his helm.

"As you wish, my Prime," Voltag murmured with a turn from the Prime as weapons unfolded from his frame. "For Cybertron!" Lasers, bullets and missiles ripped into frames not designed to take even a punch. The heavy double swords that Voltag had long favored were drawn and he launched into the tiered seating.

Sae jumped up to his pedes with a blaster in hand, tensing like he was going to jump down.

"No," Whiplash said, and Sae relaxed. "Do nothing."

"What about Nova?" Sae asked.

"He won't threaten Nova," Whiplash said with certainty while they both watched the slaughter, the bright energon slashing against richly decorated metal. "And he'll do some good in the meantime." 

Sae nodded and watched with some fascination as a general not long from the field planned on the fly. Who he targeted, the patterns he made to reach that goal. Just how little gray showed through decoration on cooling frames.

The guards arrived to Nova Prime's giddy laughter and the screams of senators trying to escape.

Whiplash allowed himself a small smile as he realized that Voltag very purposefully continued his long-range attacks without harming a single guard. He was making a point, even if he was the only one to notice it.

"Take him to the arena," Nova said, once Voltag was finally subdued.

Whiplash cursed. "I hoped the chaos might make him forget," he said. "Stay here, watch over the recovery."

Sae touched his fingers to his helm in affirmative and Whiplash was gone, working his way down to the Prime.

Nova scowled at him. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"I knew your guards could do the job admirably without my help," Whiplash said, bowing. "You trained them yourself."

Nova snorted.

"My Prime--"

"No words, I have appointments to keep," Nova said, turning around and starting to walk away. "Do not disturb me."

Whiplash tried to raise his voice, to speak, to follow, _anything_ , but he was frozen by that command until Nova vanished from sight. He cursed as soon as his code released him and he could move and took off towards the arena. There had to be _something_ he could do.

By the time he got there, Voltag was being led into the center of the ring, his ranged weapons disabled but his armor spikes and swords intact. He was released from his shackles and he stood, waiting, for Nova. Whiplash watched Cybertron's last great hope for protecting their galactic borders lift his chin and wait for the fight that would deactivate him.

Nova strode into the arena, beautiful and cold. Whiplash tried to move, and his frame wouldn't answer him. He had to, though. He had to stop this.

Something deep in his coding was snapped and abruptly he was moving, darting forward to stand between the two warriors.

For a brief moment no one moved. No one spoke. Confusion rippled around the audience and the both combatants.

"Out of the way!" Nova soon rumbled.

"Nova," Whiplash gasped, fighting for every movement, every _word_ , and held his hands up. " _Nova._ Please don't do this, you're better than this. Volteg is loyal to you, you gain nothing from his deactivation!" 

"I gain the absence of a dissident," Nova snapped. "Now get out of the way or take his place!"

Whiplash hesitated; there was a choice in there. Nova had given him something to combat the urge to walk away with. "Nova..." he implored.

"Volteg, you've been reprieved," Nova growled. "Go home and thank Primus for his mercies. Whiplash, you will fight to prove your innocence, or you will perish. I will be the judge of your sins."

It made Whiplash shudder as coding roiled inside him. He'd been ordered to fight, so he could fight. He could not damage his Prime. There was an answer in there somewhere, if he could just _think_ past the snarling primary code...

::Immobilize,:: a single glyph text transmission reached him before Nova lunged.

He dove out of the way, easily escaping Nova's reach. He could dodge forever, theoretically, or at least until one of them ran out of fuel and that was anyone's guess, really, but it was better for everyone that it end quickly.

He got back to his pedes and danced away from the next reach, hands that could crush him in moments closing where he'd been standing a nanoklik earlier. His spark beat rapidly in his chest as his hand closed around the handle of his whip. Warm, familiar, Whiplash felt calmer the moment it was settled against his palm. He kept his hand behind his back, most of the whip coiled out of sight. He didn't think Nova was aware enough to be able to pick out his intentions, but the Prime was a great warrior with thousands of genuine battles survived and there was no such thing as being too careful. 

The next strike came with the blade of a sword twice Whiplash's height in length slicing through his previous location and he was in motion again. Cutting it as close as he dared Whiplash leapt onto the blade and ran forward. The whip came out for a precise strike against Nova's wrist. It would cause no lasting harm because he didn't intend harm, so his coding didn't grumble too much. It did exactly what Whiplash intended though, and caused the hand gripping the sword to go unresponsive and limp.

Nova's furious roar shook the stadium and the static and ringing that had been kept to a low buzz in Whiplash's started to creep in, overtaking his visor, his audials--

He shook his helm sharply and snapped his wrist before Nova could fully recover and adjust. This had to be fast. A hit around Nova's neck and Whiplash pulled taut, then anchored the handle to the floor with a powerful magnet and jumped, getting his pedes on the line and using it to run up to Nova's shoulders.

Nova's good hand grabbed for him and struck his shoulder, but Whiplash managed to get his hands on either side of the Prime's helm. Nova was shaking his helm and entire upper frame in an effort to dislodge him in the moment before the powerful magnets in Whiplash's hands clicked on. Even one was powerful enough to hold both Whiplash and the Prime from the side of a building. Together, even at low power, was more than enough to completely scramble every atom in even the Prime's massive multi-tiered quantum hub processor.

The giant remained in place for a terrifying moment after his optics flicked off, but he crumpled forward a moment later, directed by the taunt whip.

There was silence in the arena as the giant frame settled, and Whiplash stayed frozen on the shoulders, staring straight ahead. He'd just brought down his Prime. He'd been _ordered_ to bring down his Prime.

No--ordered to fight for his innocence. Was he innocent?

Cybertron needed Voltag. Cybertron needed _him._

He'd directed a lethal weapon at his Prime--

Maybe he wasn't, maybe he didn't--

"Come with me." The voice that had settled long ago into the center of his spark cut through the haze, clearing away the buzz in his head everywhere it touched, like clean oil moving through sludge. He obeyed it and followed the pale frame before he'd truly processed who it was or why he should obey it. The Prime would be cared for. There were thousands to care for the Prime.

Only this one was truly there to care for him.

He didn't pay attention as they walked, didn't even really notice the time passing or how far they walked.

When they stopped, and his hand was placed on a security pad, he keyed in his code automatically and the door opened. They went inside and he was guided to his berth, sat down upon it, and felt arms around him. The warmth, the teek and that specific shade of pale silvery lavender all sank him further into safe mode. He was safe here. He was alone. This one wouldn't break the trust.

The dam at the edge of his emotional protocols crumbled, sending a flood of conflicting sensations through him, from the fear of fighting his Prime to the relief that he'd survived, the tumble of reactions to what he'd done, even distress that he hadn't done what Cybertron really needed.

Physically, he just clung to the form that was safety and keened in soft hiccups.

Fingers rubbed his sensors horns, creating a different kind of fuzz in his helm, and he could feel a calm sparkbeat in the field that wrapped around his. No expectations, no agenda, just the resolve to be steady for as long as Whiplash needed. 

He had no idea how long he sat there, shivering in Sucre's arms. Slowly the chaos subsided and his ventilations steadied. "Thank you."

"Always," Sucre murmured, stroking Whiplash's helm. "Glad I was nearby. You gonna be okay?" One of his hands wandered down, teasing at Whiplash's chest seam. "Would this help to settle?" 

"Yes and yes," Whiplash moaned in anticipation of the intimacy he shared with so few.

* * *

Bootleg was relaxing outside Whiplash's office, waiting for his boss to arrive and preparing himself for the uncomfortable dance they were about to begin. It was time. All who were involved in this plot agreed whether they were willing to say it or not. So now it was his duty to pull enough from Whiplash to set things in motion.

It wasn't going to be pleasant even with the amount of damage Whiplash had already done to his loyalty coding.

When the small black mech strolled into range Bootleg gave an internal sigh of relief. Whiplash's walk didn't show it, but just his field was enough to tell how many cubes of high grade he'd downed in order to get through this. Already half overcharged would make this so much easier.

"Drink?" Whiplash asked as he rummaged around in the storage under his desk.

"I'd love one," Bootleg said. 

"Take a seat," Whiplash waved in the general direction of the couch containing a fold out berth that was the only place someone of Bootleg's size really could sit. It wasn't long before they were both settled and Whiplash spoke again. "So what's the good news?"

"More than you might think," Bootleg said. "Latest audit had some positive results from a few corners. Crystal City's economy is booming right now, for example. Though I'll give you one guess as to why." 

"They've long focused on the goods that the wealthy buy," Whiplash huffed. "As long as there are enough wealthy beings around they'll do well as a city. How are the lower classes doing?"

"Eh..." Bootleg tilted his hand back and forth. "They're, well, _ish._ Most are at least employed doing labor, but there's a pretty big disparity in income there, so they have energon and shelter, but no luxuries. Better than a lot of places." 

"Then a city that's more stable than most," Whiplash nodded. "And the bad news?"

Bootleg scrolled through a datapad to quickly review the results he'd wanted to talk about. With Whiplash so busy trying to handle their Prime, taking stock of the planet that had been shifted to lower ranks. "The worst of the report are Ankmor Park, Hive City, Kaon, Praxus, and Vos. It was hard to even get into Vos, they've become highly xenophobic. Praxus isn't much better; if it looks like someone is settling down there are plenty who start to grumble or worse about it. There's talk of closing their borders, but they don't have much momentum yet."

"Can't say I'm surprised. Praxus never was happy about settlers. They've got that much in common with Vos. Even I've heard about Hive City's unique brand of pitching a fit, since a lot of it's happened here," Whiplash muttered. "What's Ankmor Park up to?"

"Withdrawn," Bootleg said with a shrug. "Not much there that we can really get a good grasp on. I've got a few more undercover there trying to get a better read of things." He teeked Whiplash closely. Traitorous thoughts were starting to form in the minibot's processors, but he could barely conceive of them yet. Not without intense loyalty programming shutting everything down. Slave code, really, Bootleg thought privately, when faced with the severity of it. 

"And Kaon? With the quality of soldiers coming out of there and the favorable status they have from a Prime out of their royal house, I'd have thought they would be doing reasonably well," Whiplash mentally flinched away from several other thoughts associated with the city and it's Prime.

Bootleg grunted. "The last of the mines have almost completely shut down. There are a few still working, to extract what is left, but they are largely focused on a fighting culture now," Bootleg said quietly. "Not much needs to be said about the implications of _that_ with our Senate the way it is right now." 

A low grunt agreed. "So that city's going to be a pain in the aft to rehabilitate when sane leadership comes along." Even as he said it, Whiplash flinched visibly from the code working to keep him in line. "Primus, I hate some orns."

"I know," Bootleg said. He could reach in and gently plant the seeds of thought while Whiplash was distracted with everything else going on. And pray that the ISO commander didn't notice him doing it, because his spark might not leave this room if he did. He'd taken the promotion knowing it was part of his duties, to help his commander break the slave coding enough to act, or at least enough to look the other way more easily. So he carefully planted another seed, one close to what Whiplash was already thinking as they continued to talk about the condition Cybertron and its citizens were in.

* * *

Whiplash lifted his helm at the ping at his door, looked at it for a long moment, then downed the rest of his high grade and signaled it to open.

Sucre waited a beat on the other side of the doorway before stepping in. Whiplash closed and locked the door with every level of security he had, then pinged the randomized, scrambled passcode over to Sucre. "Don't let me out until this is done with," he muttered, and reached for another cube. 

"I won't," Sucre promised softly as he settled just outside of Whiplash's lunge and grab range from the soft berth. "I'm here for you."

Whiplash nodded. "And ... please try to not let me deactivate you."

Sucre offered a reassuringly steady smile and reached his field out to caress Whiplash's. "I have no intention of deactivating, by your hand or anyone else's. You've taught me well. Trust yourself in that."

Whiplash cycled his vents and pressed back into the contact. He wanted to reach out and pull Sucre to him and sink into the berth, taste his chamber, feel pale fingers inside his spark, on his frame, feel the soft mouth against his--

He shook himself. Not now. Maybe not ever, likely not for a long time. "There's something that I need to say," he said. "I think, if I can bring myself to say it, it might help put me on the right--"

Coding _snapped_ in his processor and he cringed, pressing a hand to his helm. He couldn't even think it. 

"Focus on me, Whiplash," Sucre said firmly, sinking into his deep courtesan coding to become what his lover needed. "Relax. Stop fighting for a moment."

Whiplash's helm lifted and Sucre knew, as he somehow always did, that he did have the full focus of that matte black visor. "There," he said with a soft smile.

"I still need to say it," Whiplash said quietly. 

"Yes. Yet recall the most important lesson you taught me so many vorns ago?" Sucre said gently.

"Survive," Whiplash answered, then gave a strange look to his lover when Sucre gave that tiny smile that said he was wrong.

"It fits into that. I was recalling that in training nothing is so important as to permanently damage yourself learning," Sucre offered.

"You could argue that 'survive' covers that," Whiplash said, corner of his mouth lifting up. Sucre could still make his spark flutter.

"You could," the courtesan agreed. "But you can survive even with permanent damage. Training should never be the cause of it. Think of this as training."

"We could be here for a while," Whiplash said.

"I'm prepared for that."

Whiplash hesitated, and his voice grew quiet. "I could hurt you."

"I know," Sucre said. "I'm prepared for that too. You know how important this is."

Whiplash nodded, looking miserable.

Sucre closed the distance between them and knelt down in front of his lover, taking both hands in his own and looking up at him. "Don't think of it as you hurting me. Think of this as both of us fighting your programmers. They're the enemy now." 

"Hardest assassination I've ever been given," Whiplash sighed deeply and pressed into the contact. He needed this. Needed Sucre's calm knowledge of him and the battle they were fighting.

"You aren't alone in this one," Sucre promised. "You know how to break this. A bit at a time, chipping away at the undesirable code and reactions, until you are free of it."

Anger rose up in Whiplash, hot through his field, and Sucre was able to scramble back before he could do more than snarl. "There is no being _free_ \--"

"Not completely, no. There can be freedom from the pain and fear for speaking a thought," Sucre said firmly. "You've broken mecha of worse."

Whiplash curled forward and grabbed his helm in both hands. "I know. I know, I--even trying to think it--"

"Tell me what it's about," Sucre prompted gently.

"Nova," Whiplash said, so fast that it surprised even him. 

"That's good," Sucre smiled. "What do you feel when you think of him?"

"I love him," Whiplash said quietly. 

"The same way you feel about me?" Sucre prompted, well aware of the differences in how the emotions originated.

"No," Whiplash said, looking up at his lover, the face that was able to bring some _softness_ into his spark. "Not the same. Not at all. You..." Words failed him, like they always did, when he tried to tell Sucre what he felt. Pre-progs of their class falling in love was ridiculous and impossible. And yet.

Whiplash tilted his helm with a small smile. "You feel like freedom." 

Sucre's smile was warm and full of the adoration and personal caring that Whiplash had long inspired in him. "You've long felt of safety to me. The kindled ones say it's what love feels like. Safety, warmth, someone you can be yourself around."

"You make it damnably hard to concentrate, you know," Whiplash said, trying for an irritated huff that didn't really make it. 

"Sometimes distractions are useful. Your field isn't buzzing like a riled nest of crystal hornets anymore," Sucre smiled a bit more.

"Heh. It'll get there again," Whiplash said ruefully. "But this is a better place to start."

"It is. Tell me why you need to say this," Sucre said.

"For Cybertron," Whiplash said. "To protect the planet, to protect Primus. The path we're on right now can only take us to destruction. I'm not even sure we can avoid it now." 

"What is the easiest thing you can do to protect Cybertron that you haven't committed to yet?" Sucre coaxed him towards the real goal.

"Try to buy out Senators' votes and seats," Whiplash said. "See if gaining control of a majority of them could radically affect legislature. But I don't think it would be sustainable in the long term." 

"True, though combined with actively demolishing the wealth of the worst of them it may help," Sucre suggested with a hum. "How long is this Prime likely to survive the damage the Matrix is causing?"

Whiplash's hands clenched. "Nova is strong. He could survive for a long time. Centuries more." 

"Could any of that time be in stasis?" Sucre suggested, though his uncertainty was clear. "He is not seen much."

"I don't know what that would do to the Matrix," Whiplash said, shaking his helm. "I'm not willing to risk that. Taking the Matrix out would kill Nova." 

Sucre nodded. "That does make things more difficult. What else can be done to mitigate the damage until a new Prime is selected?"

"Relief efforts," Whiplash said. He was shying away from the answers he needed to say. "Boosting public awareness, trying to encourage donations to the lower class." 

"If that isn't enough?" Sucre pressed carefully.

"Nova--" Whiplash choked on the glyph before the next one even began to form. The punishing bolt through his helm made him cringe. "Nova c-- ... He c--" He shuddered, getting to his pedes and standing there, fists clenched, mouth working silently. 

Sucre pressed his field outward, full of support, but did not otherwise move as his lover fought his coding with nothing more than his spark and will.

The silence lasted for long, terrible kliks as Whiplash fought with everything he had, before he finally shouted a curse and stalked to the far corner of the room. "I'm not doing this, I won't go there." 

"All right," Sucre assured him without moving. "You don't have to."

Whiplash relaxed a little, fingers uncurling to hang loosely at his sides as he stared at the wall in front of him. The pounding ache that had been growing in his helm eased away. He x-vented, relieved, then gasped at a painful spasm through his spark. His hand went up, grabbing his chest over his crystal, and the next spasm nearly took him to his knees. 

"Whiplash?" Sucre was on his pedes immediately, the medic's comm in the cue as he rushed to his lover and tried to understand what was wrong.

"Have to," Whiplash gasped.

Sucre pulsed his field and assessed the spark he knew so well. "Merge with me. I can make your spark understand."

Whiplash shuddered and nodded, reaching back for his lover. Sucre took his hand and knelt, gently turning him and putting a hand over his. Whiplash's chest split open beneath their fingers and Sucre pressed in to begin the merge.

The first question he felt from Whiplash was wondering if this was what the sparks unlucky enough to be called to a function that went against their nature felt for their entire lives. 

Sucre oozed into the distressed spark for the cause and suddenly relaxed. ~I expect it is. Give his processors time,~ he whispered to the unsettled spark. ~It must survive for the work to be done.~

~Nova can't stay Prime,~ the spark whispered. Nightmares of Cybertron cracking to its core, Primus's essence being spilled into space to be shredded by the unforgiving tides of the system, were vivid in here. ~If anything is to be done it has to be _now_.~

~I will do it. My coding isn't as strong as your frame's.~ Sucre said somewhere between offering and insisting.

_**No!** _

The protest came from every part of Whiplash's being. ~No. I'll know. I'll _hunt you down_ if you take this upon yourself. You're part of the next generation, you have to survive.~

~Calm. All right. I won't,~ Sucre pushed as much promise, caring and support into the merge as he possessed. ~I only want this to be easier on you.~

~I don't think there is a way to make it easier on me,~ Whiplash said. ~I just have to get through this.~

~And I am here to be whatever you need to do that,~ Sucre promised even as they moaned and began to shiver with the building charge. ~Anything you need.~

~I know. Thank you. I know you'll see me through this.~

Their overload crested slowly and left them holding each other and shivering as their sparks disengaged. Whiplash slumped, helm coming to rest on Sucre's chest after it closed. "Think that helped," he murmured.

"You feel more relaxed," Sucre said, stroking his helm.

Whiplash nodded and gave into the craving to stay there for a few more kliks before he shifted, sitting upright. He kept his hands in Sucre's, meeting his optics.

"Ready?" Sucre asked.

Whiplash nodded again. "Nova," he said, slowly, carefully, and Sucre's grip tightened encouragingly. The courtesan nodded his approval of the single glyph.

"Nova," Whiplash repeated, as the post-overload buzz faded. "Nova ca-- He ca-- ca--" He shook his helm sharply and growled his frustration, steeling himself. " _Can't._ He can't. _Nova can't._ "

"That's good. Even a Prime has things he can't be. That's why a good Prime has good mecha around him," Sucre smoothly distracted the code to make Whiplash's words seem less treasonous.

Whiplash nodded, cycling fresh air through his vents as he fought to stay focused. "Nova can't," he repeated again and noted that the code was less aggressive. Still unhappy, no question about it, but what Sucre had supplied was an acceptable statement.

Another deep drought of air and Whiplash was ready to try again. "My Lord Prime," the code purred happily at the respect inside and out, "cannot," he shivered and focused back to his master's title, "live," he got out as quickly as he could before his coding tore a scream from him.

He could feel Sucre's hands on him, hear his lover's voice, distantly, past the shrieking pain in his processor. He knew that he should be paying attention to what his frame was doing, because he could feel it struggling, and he knew better than anyone what it could do, but the _pain--!_

Error messages scrolled across his field of view, but they weren't a priority to a processor scrambled by itself. The messages stopped and Whiplash felt a sense of relief before he dropped into darkness.

The next time his visor came online, the notices started scrolling by. Lost energon, damaged cables, a hard shutdown that had probably been Sucre's magnets.

"Did a pretty good job getting at yourself," Sucre said, and Whiplash focused outward to see his lover with gouges down the side of his face. 

"You survived?" Whiplash mumbled in a mixture of respect and relief. "Not many could."

"I know exactly what you can do," Sucre said, pressing his hand to the side of Whiplash's face. "I've made a point to learn how to survive it."

Whiplash turned his face into the touch he craved so much. "I'm sorry you've had to," he let out a soft sigh before falling silent and simply soaking in Sucre's presence and solid spark pulse for several kliks. "How far did I get? That last moment is pretty scrambled."

"Far enough to send yourself after your own spark, and mine for hearing you say it," Sucre said. "Do you feel ready to hear it?" 

Whiplash drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he tested the bindings and ran slow, deep ventilations for more than a klik.

"Yes, I'm well bound and steady," Whiplash replied.

Sucre nodded and leaned forward to touch their helms together, steadying himself and bracing for the pain Whiplash would have to feel again. "My Lord Prime," he murmured, "Cannot live." 

Under him Whiplash howled and thrashed, his coding turned against Sucre. Yet even as it directed its full fury against Sucre, it exposed itself to being picked at by the one it influenced.

Sucre held where he was to give the code something to continue to rage at, unafraid of the shrieking threats, the promises of death. The bonds were strong, they would hold. Every time the code seemed to be winding down, he repeated the words, varying the exact glyphs but holding to the intent. He'd promised to get his lover through this, and right now, Whiplash needed to listen to his _own_ words until he was able to truly hear them.

Eventually, he went limp, panting, exhausted. Sucre stroked his forehelm. "The Prime cannot live," he said, and Whiplash only shuddered. Sucre waited a beat. "Say it again." 

"Prime can't ... live," Whiplash choked on the words, his frame trembling in pain, but he managed.

"Good," Sucre said, his voice layered with soothing harmonics. "Really, really good. I know how hard that was. But you need to try it again." 

Whiplash's field cried and his vocalizer hiccuped as his first attempt ended in static. The second was barely audible, but he managed.

" _So_ good," Sucre praised. "Can you say it with Prime's full designation?"

"Nova Prime..." Whiplash shook harder. "Cannot live."

"I'm so proud of you," Sucre said with a smile, reaching into subspace and pulling out a cube. "Helm up, there we go. Take a break and fuel."

Whiplash agreed with relief in his field and tipped his helm up. It wasn't easy to drink like this, but he knew how, and Sucre knew how to handle it as well.

"How do you feel?" Sucre asked when the cube was empty. 

"Like the output of a scrap compactor," Whiplash muttered, yet his field was thankful against Sucre's.

"Think you'll be up for more after a rest?" Sucre asked. 

"Yeah," Whiplash sighed. "Yeah, I can."

"You told me to make sure that you could say it without hesitation," Sucre said. "We'll work until we have that. Then you can rest."

Whiplash nodded, turning his helm away. "I really thought he was the Prime to finally unite Cybertron," he murmured.

Sucre ran soothing hands over Whiplash's frame. "I know. He was a great Prime, for a time." 

"It seems like every Prime I've known from selection has had these issues," Whiplash murmured, his optics dim. "It's hard, watching it time after time."

"There will be a better Prime," Sucre said. "There has to be." 

"For Cybertron, you are right. We need a stable Prime," Whiplash sighed.

"Some orn," Sucre said. "Rest, now." 


	7. Ending a Prime

Sucre slipped into the little observation room overseeing one of the interrogation rooms where Whiplash was currently walking one of his officers through one of the most difficult parts of training any agent: torture resistance. Bootleg was already inside and watching, and nodded to the courtesan as he sat down.

"How's it going?" Sucre asked. 

"Fairly well. Not the easiest I've seen, but not nearly as difficult as mine was," Bootleg said easily. "Evergreen is a good choice for this; he really picks up on the small cues."

"It was hard for you to learn?" Sucre asked.

Bootleg frowned a little. "It's hard to be able to feel how much they're hurting the entire time. I don't know any hosts who would have an easy time with it. That, and keeping the blocks up on my symbiots the entire time so I don't hurt them, but still needing to concentrate on hurting someone I might care about?" He shook his helm. "Not a good mix."

"I can see why," Sucre said.

They watched in silence for a while before Bootleg looked a Sucre curiously. "Did Whiplash do your resistance training?"

Sucre nodded. "He does the resistance training for everyone."

"I thought he might have handed that off to someone else for you," Bootleg said.

Sucre smiled faintly and shook his helm. "He made sure I had the best training possible."

"Yes, what the two of you have is most unusual in many ways," Bootleg hummed. "How is his conditioning coming along?"

Sucre stiffened. "I don't like to think about it much. How important is the answer?" 

"That was enough," Bootleg put a gentle hand on Sucre's shoulder despite the massive size difference. "I just wanted to know if both of you think you're in the same place."

"I support him, always, without questions," Sucre said. "In everything. That's the place we're in." 

Bootleg nodded and they both fell silent, watching Whiplash work Evergreen through the lesson.

"You do understand what he's planning to do?" Bootleg asked quietly after some time.

"I understand," Sucre murmured. "I even understand why it's necessary."

"Have you prepared yourself?"

Sucre didn't answer for a long time, then he shook his helm, once.

Bootleg patted his shoulder again. "Life goes on."

"Does it?" Sucre murmured.

"Yes. It hurts for a long time, but life does go on," Bootleg said firmly, then softened. "It has to. That's why he's doing this." 

"Not very comforting," Sucre said. 

"It rarely is at first," Bootleg agreed. "It's like any damage. It will heal, then the echo of pain stops, and eventually it no longer hurts to think about."

"He saved me," Sucre said quietly. 

"He saved many of us, ordered as many of us created," Bootleg sighed. "You ... _could_ save him, you know, if you're able to ignore his orders."

Sucre's field twitched. "He would hate that." 

"Only until the next Prime pardoned him, and he'd need to stay in stasis until then anyway," Bootleg pointed out.

"I hadn't thought of that," Sucre admitted. 

Bootleg hummed. "If you decide to, let me know ahead of time if you can. I can run interference and make sure only those already in the loop see him come back."

"I need to think about it," Sucre said, then sighed. "Not many know. You might have to bring a few more in. Processor docs. Medics." 

"They are, though he doesn't know it yet," Bootleg jerked his chin towards their leader. "Unofficially, more have worked it out than either of us like, but it's the nature of aberrant behavior around here. Topside you might be seen as odd and it goes no further. Down here though, where intel's better than any energon in trade, you just can't dodge the curiosity or the huge number who can't let a puzzle go."

"True. All the training and rearranging." Sucre pulled his knees up to his chest. "Could you make that call?"

Bootleg hummed thoughtfully and shifted to ease the displeasure in his systems. "Like so much, it would depend on why. If it's just coding or an emotional meltdown, I could and would. If his spark genuinely wished to return to Primus ... it would require incredible need to keep him here."

"I don't ... know the answer," Sucre said. 

"It is not an easy thing to do," Bootleg offered gently and they fell silent once more.

* * *

Whiplash was exhausted when he made it back to his quarters, holding his hand over the security pad. He leaned on the door in order to punch in his code, and nearly fell in when it opened.

He would have been content to stay there on the floor, except for the hands that were immediately on him, concern in their teek. "What ... Sucre?" he mumbled. "How..."

"Did I get in here?" Sucre tilted Whiplash's helm up. He would have been smirking, if he didn't look so sad. "What kind of agent would I be if I couldn't break through a simple lock?"

"A rookie," Whiplash allowed his optics to dim further. "How long?"

"Couple joors," Sucre said as he picked up his lover and walked to the berth they often shared. "Figured you'd be wiped out when you got back. When was the last time you took a break, a decaorn ago?" 

"Probably," Whiplash murmured and relaxed in the supporting grip. "There's been so much to do."

"How close are you to being done?" Sucre asked as he settled Whiplash onto the padding, holding his helm and shoulders up in order to slip under them. Whiplash's head came to rest in his lap and Sucre curled over him, petting his forehelm.

"Close. Could probably be done, but there's just so much I've hidden away that I have to find again to pass on. Have to make sure I've found it all," Whiplash sighed as he relaxed further in his lover's field.

"It'll get found," Sucre said. "Don't work yourself to deactivation looking for it." 

Whiplash's systems let out a sigh as he relaxed. "No, that would be a bad thing. Cybertron's too important for me to fail for being too prepared."

Sucre stroked the edges of Whiplash's helm down to his jaw, then brushed his thumb over his lover's mouth, tracing the shape carefully. "Do you know when..." he murmured. 

"Soon. When I'm rested. I shouldn't go when I'm wiped out," Whiplash leaned faintly into the touch that his field expressed so much desire for.

"Am I going to see you after you leave this room?" Sucre asked. 

"You shouldn't," Whiplash sighed softly, then made his decision. "No. Once I rest, I'm going."

Sucre nodded, cycling his vocalizer to silence the cry of protest. "Merge with me before you go? After you rest. You need to rest." 

A smile caressed Sucre from Whiplash's field along with warmth. "I'd like that."

"Good," Sucre said, and curled forward so he could brush their lips together. "Rest, now. I'll be right here when you boot." 

"Good," Whiplash sighed and began to shut down for the badly needed rest and defrag.

* * *

Awareness returned slowly to Whiplash. Even uncertain of why Sucre's warmth was making his spark pulse more happily than usual he allowed the boot to proceed lazily.

"Hello, love." Sucre's voice was warm, welcome. Hands on his neck were rubbing over tight cables that Whiplash could feel had already been worked on for quite some time. 

"Hello love," he replied with a happy, relaxing sound. "You take such good care of me."

"Someone has to," Sucre chuckled. "How do you feel?" 

"Better than in a while," he nuzzled whatever part of Sucre was near his face.

"Good," Sucre said happily. His plating warmed everywhere Whiplash touched. "You really needed that defrag, I could practically hear you debugging." 

"How long was I out?" Whiplash murmured before giving the plating a slow lick.

"Nearly an orn," Sucre said. "Just a few joors shy of it. Tease," he added. 

"Only a tease if I don't intend to go through with it," Whiplash grinned up, then turned his helm to apply a bit more intentional attention to his lover's inner thigh.

Sucre's breathless x-vent came along with hands resting on Whiplash's helm. "Wasn't sure if you had enough time," he said. 

"I'll make time for you," Whiplash rolled over to nuzzle Sucre's spike cover.

"Mmh." Thumbs dragged over Whiplash's sensor horns and Sucre's legs fell apart. "Definitely okay with that."

"Good," Whiplash softly mouthed his way around Sucre's spike cover, enjoying the building heat under his lip plates and the charge in their fields. It didn't take long for the cover to slide back, exposing the housing up to him. Whiplash circled his glossa around the structure, making Sucre shudder and grab onto his helm. He grinned and did it again, this time feeling the tip of his lover's spike. He closed his mouth around it and sucked.

"Ah, _Primus._ " Sucre's voice was staticky and layered, deeply reverential harmonics woven through the glyph of their god. It was enough to cause Whiplash to shiver at hearing another so complete in their dedication to the spark at Cybertron's core.

Humming softly, Whiplash continued to tease his lover's spike out until he heard the click of it locking at full extension. Soft licks drew more shivers of pleasure as Whiplash drew his helm up, then kiss his way to Sucre's mouth while he rubbed his valve platelets against the erotic length of metal between them.

Sucre's arms circled around him and his hips rolled up. He tilted his helm into the kiss, deepening it as he teased at Whiplash's valve. It was all Whiplash needed to shift his hips and draw forward to push back in a slow slide that enveloped Sucre in tight, slick heat and made them both moan.

"Hard to think we never did this before," Whiplash whispered into a kiss that brought a surge of molten heat through their cores.

"Have we really not?" Sucre's arms tightened around Whiplash's waist. Whiplash rocked over him and he groaned against his lover's mouth. "No--suppose not. Your spark is too tempting."

"We'll get there," Whiplash promised with a deep moan as the crackle of a building overload danced under their armor. "I want it so much."

"Tease," Sucre murmured again, smiling. His hips pushed up, but the position left the control of the pace with Whiplash. The Ops commander squeezed around him and his frame jerked up. "Really tight tease," he gasped. 

Whiplash chuckled between gasps as he arched his frame up and slid his arms over his helm as he ground their arrays together while he rippled his valve calipers. "You feel so good."

Sucre hummed happily, hand wrapping around the back of Whiplash's neck to pull him into a kiss that didn't break until the first gasp of overload. Sucre's frame seized up as charge danced along his plating, optics whiting out in bliss. Whiplash was lost immediately after as his valve was flooded with crackling transfluid.

Quivering and gasping, both lovers collapsed when the charge finally let them go. Panting, trembling, Sucre kissed his lover as they cooled together, holding each other as they stretched out on the berth.

"Why does it have to be you?" Sucre whispered. 

"Because anyone else I would have to destroy," Whiplash sighed, regret and resignation deep in his harmonics. "This way, I'm the only one being destroyed."

"Not the only one," Sucre murmured, and brought his hand to Whiplash's chest. 

"You'll recover. It may hurt at first. Time will ease the loss," Whiplash tried to reassure him with experience and the certainty it brought.

"I know," Sucre said. "But part of my spark will always be looking forward to joining yours."

"Live long," Whiplash shifted to kiss him softly. "Primus will keep me content until you are done here."

"I'll live as long as I can help keep Cybertron and Primus safe and whole," Sucre promised. "Whether long or not." 

"It is all any of us can do," Whiplash smiled, his field warm with pride and joy that he had someone who understood his devotion for so long, and at the end of his service. It was an impossibly wonderful feeling. For a moment he remained still, simply soaking in Sucre's field, before he decided that yes, he really did want to experience every pleasure with this lover before he went. As tempting as skipping to the merge was, he really did want to feel what it was like to be inside him.

Sucre's gaze was on him, and the optics softened as Whiplash's teek warmed. A soft kiss was pressed against his mouth. "I didn't want to delay you more ... But I would love the memory of feeling you inside me to go with being inside you." 

"You will," Whiplash promised as he slid a hand down Sucre's supple frame to caress the valve cover.

Sucre's leg pulled up and away to give the hand more space. "Can't believe we've really never done this," he said with a small laugh.

"Neither can I," Whiplash purred in agreement as he teased the valve cover into opening. "So many centuries together, so many times, but never this."

"Like I said," Sucre hummed, as his hand slid down to palm Whiplash's spike cover and found it already open with the housing warm. "Always got distracted by your spark. Or by tasting you. Mm, or watching you come undone by my fingers," he purred. 

"I know," Whiplash moaned and pressed into the touch while he used his own fingers to tease his lover while he was teased to full hardness. "So much fun."

"Mhmm." Sucre pressed his mouth to Whiplash's jaw as they sank into the familiar bliss of bringing each other to overload. It was only when Whiplash stopped him well before they overloaded that he was brought back to reality. It wasn't for long as Whiplash climbed over him, between spread legs, and slowly pushed into him.

Sucre shuddered, arms going around his lover's frame. One of his legs dragged up Whiplash's frame, hooking around his hip. "'S good," he murmured, and drew in a deep vent as Whiplash pushed forward.

"So good," Whiplash agreed as he brought their arrays flush and held still for a moment to simply savor this carnal pleasure with a mech he cared entirely too much for.

Sucre pushed his hips up a little and nuzzled his lover. "Thank you," he said softly after they kissed.

"Anything I can for you," Whiplash shuddered with the intensity of that impossible truth, then began to draw his hips back.

"Go slow," Sucre murmured. 

"Will," Whiplash promised with a moan as he complied. Every draw and push was slow, tender, and all about pleasuring Sucre while they kissed and caressed.

This was one of the last memories his lover--his _mate_ \--would have of him. Whiplash would make it last as long as possible. He didn't have any more deadlines, just loose ends that he could tie on his own schedule and most of those didn't even really need to be tied up.

The pleasure, the embrace, the sharing was all that mattered until Sucre dropped off line and didn't rouse again. Only then did Whiplash allow himself to surrender to the call of his frame and rest. He would need all his energy and focus soon.

The next time they moved, it started with Sucre rousing and pressing a hand to his lover's chest. Whiplash opened to it, feeling Sucre's mouth against his, spark energy flooding out, familiar fingers on his crystal. He shuddered as their sparks began to tangle together, eager as always.

There was no hurry as soon as the merge stabilized, though, but rather a basking in each other's presence, blissful to be this close.

~You'll soon get to know Primus,~ Sucre said. 

~Yes,~ Whiplash agreed, both eager and not. ~Not how I ever imagined it happening, but for the best cause possible.~

~Would you have chosen it?~ Sucre asked carefully. 

~No, even as much as I hurt right now. It's just the best choice possible, the lowest casualty count,~ Whiplash told him gently. ~It'll even be over with quickly.~

Sucre understood. ~You're my other half,~ he said. ~Always will be.~

Warmth suffused Whiplash's spark, barely hinting at his sadness that they would not be together much longer. In every atom of the merge was how deeply he returned the sentiment and they overloaded like that, filled with how much they meant to the other.

* * *

Whiplash left his lover, his _love_ , in his berth. In truth, it was their berth. In a glance he saw everything that a kindled mech would say one needed to be happy. A home, one to love that loved them and no fear for their energon running out. The large part of him that was sparked to his function that saw all that desire as weaknesses was repulsed by the truth, that he wanted that kindled existence, and wanted it with this young agent that he'd trained. He should be supporting Sucre, not allowing Sucre to comfort him.

It all added up to a truth that it was his time to retire. He was a determent to his mission rather than an asset.

With that firmly in mind, Whiplash turned and left to take on his final duty as the Left Hand of the Prime.

What few loose ends still lingered could be tied by those who would follow him. He'd meant to leave much earlier to deal with them, but the time had been sacrificed with Sucre. Just another sign.

His spark was heavy as he thought of leaving his agents. So many were understood by so few. Would they get along without him?

The doubt was pushed firmly from his mind. That was a question for those who would take his place. His focus was elsewhere now. His focus was on _Nova._

His very spark cried at that designation. For so long he had thought Nova was the one, the Prime that the Matrix wanted. He'd lasted so long, been good for so long. Not anymore. Now Nova was a menace. Insane beyond reconciling. The Matrix may well have liked Nova, but for whatever reason it could not bond properly with him.

 _Because it didn't pick him,_ Whiplash thought, quickly, hoping the thought wouldn't immediately snap back at him. When it didn't, he hesitated. Was... Was that a symptom of how he'd broken his code, or was that correct?

He shook himself. Didn't matter. He wouldn't be here to worry about it. His successors would do better than he had, he'd trained them well and they were ready. 

As he slipped into the Prime's berth chamber through a passage that had not been used in Nova's presence he was relieved that the monitors had reported correctly and the Pr ... that Nova was deep in recharge and alone.

He looked peaceful, and in this moment, he was more than just a shadow of his former self. Regal features, the handsome face that had drawn the planet to him. Whiplash shivered thinking of the way they had all come to him, hurting from the failed Primes and so eager for someone strong to lead them. 

Careful movements brought Whiplash onto the huge berth. Even more careful movement allowed him to creep into Nova's field where he stilled and allowed their sparks to accept the other was there and no danger. Nearby a breem of sitting there, watching and visible as a guardian, brought to mind how he'd often done so in the first vorns of this Prime's rule.

Somewhere in the next half joor Whiplash had moved to touching.

Then it was time.

A dataport opened to Whiplash's knowing fingers and he plugged in.

"I love you," he whispered as he slipped past firewalls that he had helped to design and uploaded a virus. It was an ancient one, though updated through the vorns for new coding and systems. At the most basic it overrode automated systems to starve the spark and short out related support systems. The spark would typically gutter within a few kliks, depending on how strong it was.

This one was far more advanced, designed as an assassin's weapon where it was critical the victim not recognize anything as wrong. The first action was to override the real data coming in from the frame with readings that said all was well. It also blocked pain signals.

The one uploaded into Nova Prime also had the mercy coding for ending an agent peacefully. Not only would the victim be oblivious of any danger in their frame, but their processors would be drawn into memories they'd tagged as exceptionally good ones.

Tension eased out of Nova's field and Whiplash pulled back. He didn't want to intrude on the memories. He unplugged with a small x-vent and looked at Nova's mouth as it turned up in a small smile. "Rest well," he murmured, and settled himself into the curl of Nova's arm, pressed up against his plating. Still warm and alive, Whiplash nuzzled against it, remembering feeling safe in this Prime's arms as he allowed his own kill coding to activate.

* * *

Sucre watched from the rafters. He knew Whiplash would use one of the rarely used access points so he took the most common to settle in and watch as his love edged closer and closer to the only Prime Sucre had known. Nova had been awe-inspiring in his youth. Sucre still looked back wistfully on those early vorns of glamorous parties and a simple, pleasure-filled life. He wouldn't give up what he had now for anything, but there had been an innocence to that life that Sucre still missed. 

Each move that Whiplash made caused Sucre to tense up, both out of fear that Nova would notice and that this would be the moment his love finally crossed the line that could not be crossed back over.

When the shadow of a frame stilled in the crook of Nova's arm and Sucre saw the telltale blissful smile, he jumped down, ricocheting from toe plate hold to toe plate hold to land without disturbance on the great berth. Nova's frame was starting to shiver and gray, but that was paid no attention as the courtesan sent out a comm. Too soon and Whiplash would self-destruct to make sure no one could save him. Too late and...

There was no response to his hand on his lover's chest and Sucre got plugged in, slipping past firewalls that had never had reason to block him and uploading an anti-virus that Larua had given him. It was impossible to say how Whiplash might have modified his own kill virus so Sucre just had to hope it worked. 

It seemed like forever before the medical team arrived, though Sucre knew it was less than a breem. The moment Medice plugged into Whiplash this was no longer Sucre's mission. All the courtesan turned ISO agent could do was stay out of the way and be grateful his lover was still completely black and the medic wasn't in trouble. Even so, by the time they left with Whiplash and were gone it seemed like forever.

Now came was difficult part. 

Sucre focused inward and brought up the mix of freaked out and professionally calm the situation should invoke in him and commed the guards and the Physician to the Prime along with officially alerting ISO.

::The Prime is gray.::

Two glyphs, delivered in a slightly shaking but holding voice, sent a ripple of reactions through the palace and beyond.

After that his job became relatively easy. Stand watch over the scene to preserve the integrity and watch as guards and medics and agents and priests began to fill the room, each in their own time and duty set. Investigating, confirming, declaring. As the priests reached into the lifeless frame and removed the Matrix, Sucre's spark twisted. This was everything Whiplash had hated, and it was going to happen again. 

There was nothing Sucre could do to stop it. Even if he understood how to make Whiplash's desires come true, it was not his place to do such a thing.

Only the Commander of ISO, or a Hand of the Prime, had such an ability to alter the path the world was on.

After his memories--faked memories, written partially by Larua to help them pass close inspection--of finding the Prime had been downloaded, he was dismissed from the scene.

He stood out in the hallway, frozen, fists clenched and trying to decide what to do now. Visiting Whiplash wouldn't do any good. Even if he was alive, he wasn't going to be online for a long time. 

Not until they had a new Prime that would pardon him.

Even now the Senate committee was being roused to begin the final choice. Even they had know this was coming. They just hadn't known when. 

So who would be the new Prime?


	8. Welcoming A Prime

When Whiplash became aware of his own existence, he fought against it. He was expecting Primus, not the broken _scratch_ of his own mangled code. Why was he still here? Had Nova survived? Was he going to be executed?

He didn't fight the booting process, and realized dimly that he could feel Medice's presence in his processors. 

~Welcome back to the living, Whiplash.~ Her greeting tone was all the warning he needed to know she was expecting and on guard for a suicide effort.

Strangely, he realized, after he had a few moments to think about it, suicide wasn't his first inclination. ~What happened?~

~Nova is gone, as is his successor. We have a sane Prime who deems your actions those of a hero,~ she laid out the basics.

Whiplash's processors stuttered and his visor snapped online. The first thing he saw--and quite purposefully, he knew--was a handsome convoy class standing with his chest open. It left his spark chamber, and therefore the Matrix glittering within, clearly visible.

"Whiplash," the Prime rumbled. "You are a hero for your planet. You are pardoned of all crimes, by my order. You are innocent. Further, you are reinstated to your former position as my Imperial Special Operations Commander."

A shudder passed through Whiplash's frame, a mixture of relief, rewriting of so much damage in his processors and a near overload from the bliss of such praise from his Prime.

"Thank you, my Prime," he said, hearing for the first time how rough his vocalizer was from lack of use.

"Take it easy," Larua said, looking over the monitors. "You've been in stasis for a while."

"Is that sufficient?" the new Prime said, looking around behind himself, and his gaze drew Whiplash's towards the door.

_Sucre._

The courtesan nodded. "That was perfect. Thank you, Sentinel." 

Sentinel Prime, a mech of rich orange and yellow so unlike Nova's black and white, turned to catch Whiplash's optics. "Take care, Whiplash. I need you strong and steady for what is coming."

"Yes, my Prime," Whiplash said, then watched Larua and Medice exchange a conversation with just a few looks.

"You're free to go when you feel ready," Medice said. "Go get yourself a good oil job and please take it easy for at least a few orns while you get yourself back up to speed."

The Prime nodded to those present before leaving, followed quickly by the medics.

Sucre remained, standing by the door, and waited until it closed before he took a step forward. "Are you angry?" he asked quietly. 

"Much as I should be, no," Whiplash admitted as he looked at his long time lover, his love, if he was honest. "Why did you?"

Sucre didn't answer immediately, instead cycling his vents a few times. "I think this planet still needs you. And I didn't think your spark was ready to leave. And ... I..." He trailed off, refusing to meet Whiplash's gaze. 

"Was selfish," the matte black mech said for him. "At least you have the order of importance right."

Sucre nodded. "I have a kill virus ready to upload," he said. "If you want it." 

"No," Whiplash told him. "I'm here, I'm pardoned, and you are right. I didn't _want_ to extinguish. I'd just made my peace with the price of the mission. Eventually you'll be good enough to go on those missions and come back from some of them."

"'Eventually?'" Sucre asked with a small smile, tilting his helm.

Whiplash paused and cocked his helm. "Just how long have I been out?"

"Almost three centuries," Sucre said, and watched as Whiplash's visor cycled and his love processed that.

"I have a lot of catching up to do. Is Bootleg still acting commander?" Whiplash asked with the kind of calm that millennia of command brought.

"No, he deactivated in an attack on the galactic borders," Sucre said. "The acting commander is Istma." He took a few steps closer, then after a moment of hesitation, closed the rest of the distance between them, reaching for Whiplash's hands. His field and touch was greeted by a welcome, but a welcome that had a lot to work though before it was really ready.

"So you've been taking the hard missions now?" Whiplash tried for something that was just the two of them trying to connect so he could process the greater implications of events in the quiet parts of his processor that weren't focused on Sucre being _right there_.

"Everything was chaotic," Sucre said. "Galactic borders were collapsing, there were riots all over the planet after Nova deactivated. I did what was needed." 

"Good agent," Whiplash murmured, smiling. He was unaccountably tired, but then being in stasis for three centuries after a failed kill virus wasn't exactly known to be restful. "When is your next duty shift?"

"I made sure I'd have a few orns," Sucre said. 

"Glad to hear it," Whiplash turned his visor off with a soft x-vent. "Stay?"

"Like you could get rid of me," Sucre said, and climbed onto the berth as Whiplash shifted to make room. Black and pale frames pressed together, Sucre moving carefully. "Primus I missed you," he murmured. 

"I'd have missed you if I was aware," Whiplash murmured as they moved together to settle in a snuggle they were both comfortable in. "How has Prime been doing?"

"He's steady," Sucre said. "Conservative. It's what the planet needs right now. He's been focused on stabilizing everyone." 

"Good." Whiplash let out another deep sigh. "Stable's what Cybertron's needed for a long time."

"And you," Sucre said quietly. 

"I'm only a servant of the Prime, like everyone else," Whiplash said, then made a low, quiet sound when Sucre's hand wrapped around his helm and brought it to rest in the crook of his neck.

"Rest," Sucre murmured, and kissed the top of his helm. In testament to just how worn out he was, Whiplash's only response was to power down.

* * *

Whiplash was drifting into recharge, filtering through all the information he'd gathered and downloaded today. Two decaorns of catching up with the world had left him drained most orns, exhausted for a few of them. But it was mostly done, and he felt back into the rhythm of things.

The door to his quarters opened and shut and Whiplash halted the shut-down process, but stayed still as Sucre came over. Whiplash could barely hear the pedefalls, and he was proud of the agent he'd trained. He was glad, too, that Sucre was willing to just snuggle with him while he worked through the personal. He knew where it would end up. He'd never really doubted it. It was just a matter of how long it would take. 

The berth dipped a little as Sucre crawled up next to him, close enough to touch, fields meshing easily, but only a hand came to rest on Whiplash's side. There, but not intruding, and far from intimate. 

"How was your orn?" Whiplash welcomed him with a soft question and happy-to-touch field.

Sucre immediately pressed closer into a full snuggle and Whiplash embraced him with a nuzzle. "Standard," he said. "I mostly do guard rotation when I'm not on a mission of some kind, same thing again today. How was yours?"

"Long, optic deep in reports and admin and processor-numbingly dull. It's good to have a sane Prime again," Whiplash actually purred with relief. "It's been terribly long since I saw such little reason to act against a citizen."

"I thought you would like him," Sucre said. His own engines began purring in response. "He isn't as charming as Nova was, but he's steady. It's nice." 

"Steady is what this world needs so very badly. He's been listening to the right mecha too. It's good," Whiplash sighed with contentment and cautiously stroked Sucre's side with a little more interest in pleasure.

"Mhmm." Sucre's leg nudged forward a little, and his fingers tapped a light pattern on Whiplash's armor. "Do you feel like talking about something other than the Prime tonight?" 

"Or not talking," Whiplash moaned as his long-neglected interfacing systems hummed to life. "Missed being with you."

"You have no idea," Sucre whispered before their mouths were pressed together, with no intention of breaking the kiss for a very long time. Sucre's hand didn't hesitate to push lower, moving along Whiplash's side before reaching his hip, fingers dipping into the joint. The kiss absorbed Whiplash's deep moan, making the click and slide of both interface panels opening all the louder between them.

"Missed you," Whiplash whispered as he trembled in the grip of that truth. Everything in him surrendered to the will of the courtesan that cared for him so much despite their ranks.

When fingers pressed between his legs he shifted back to allow Sucre the access he was asking for. A shudder went through his lover when fingertips felt the slickness there and then Whiplash's helm was falling back with a gasp as Sucre pressed into him.

A groon later, fists tight around the padding, Whiplash found himself on his back with Sucre's helm between his legs. His frame was taut, hips rocking into the glossa that circled his valve. Fingers were pressed in him, another hand was on his spike, and when he tried to focus his visor, all he saw was static. Primus! He'd forgotten how good this felt. Not just the interfacing, but _letting go_ , letting someone he trusted to catch him take control. Already he could feel the tension of command, of his duties outside this room, slide away. His very spark felt lighter for the attention to his frame as he screamed with the physical release.

Sucre hummed happily against him as the static release cascaded over his armor, and it left Whiplash as a limp, shivering pile when it faded. He shuddered when Sucre pressed one more kiss to his valve, then again to the tip of his spike, before the courtesan slid forward, covering Whiplash's frame with his own and claiming another kiss that was returned with as much coordination as Whiplash could manage. One hand came to rest on his hip, the other came tantalizingly close to his chest before going to the berth for support. 

As soon as Whiplash could coordinate enough to manage it, he lifted a hand to stroke Sucre's chest and unlocked the armor of his own.

"Please," Whiplash whispered through the lingering static.

"Shh..." Sucre's hand slid up from hip to the parted chest, fingers brushing the dark crystal. He quieted Whiplash's whimper with another kiss, tracing and teasing, each touch making the matte black frame twitch. "Relax, my spark," he murmured, before he palmed the crystal and shifted back, bringing his mouth to its surface. 

Whiplash moaned deeply and relaxed into the intensely intimate touch, his field blooming outward to envelope and share this bliss with his lover. With the second caressing kiss his chamber spiraled open. 

Fingers dipped inside as a soft glossa continued to explore the latticework. What felt like no more than a metacycle for Whiplash, and a strange sense that it had been so much longer, had been centuries for Sucre and his field was rich with the joy of being able to touch his lover again. That joy pushed into Whiplash's field as their frames cycled and pressed together. 

It was all too much for Whiplash's emotional core to process and that checked his processors out, leaving only his spark's joy to fill his field and plead for it's love to join it.

Sucre x-vented, shaking and hot, and shuddered as he lifted his helm and saw the bliss on Whiplash's face. His chest parted and his crystal opened, and then he moved forward and pressed their open frames flush. Sparks rushed out upwards and out, tangling into each other and throbbing in relief. Though it hadn't been long to Whiplash's processors, the spark that powered him was as acutely aware of the long, long, lonely centuries as Sucre's was.

Their mingling was focused on reasserting the connection that had faded over the vorns. Processors knew the bliss as a physical sensation, a build to an overload. The sparks didn't care about it. They fixated on the recalibration, the tiny shifts each had made to be that much more compatible with the other and share the longing the each knew would not be fulfilled. There would be no bonding in these frames.

They had known coming into their lives that their frames belonged to the functions for which they had been commissioned first, and their own sparks second. Even now neither could find it in their sparks to regret that choice or nurturing what was between them.

~I missed you so much,~ Sucre's spark whispered to its love. 

~I've missed you so much more. Frame stasis is so lonely. No distractions. Just hoping to feel you again,~ Whiplash spoke as he never could with his processors on.

~It broke me to think of you like that. The first Prime refused to forgive, I couldn't bring you online until he was gone.~ Sucre's spark tightened around Whiplash's. 

~Thank you. Didn't want to go back yet,~ Whiplash curled into the care of his love. ~Willing to. Didn't want to.~

~I knew.~ Sucre's spark quivered with the relief that he'd been right. ~I realized ... as long as it felt to be away from you, you've been in a frame so much longer. You waited so much longer.~

~I didn't know what I was missing,~ Whiplash murmured as he continued to relax and their energies mingled ever deeper. ~I did for this. I missed you so much.~

Sucre's adoration and care for him washed through his spark. ~Primus was good to us.~

~Very good to us,~ Whiplash agreed with all he was. ~Functions we are perfect for and each other.~

~And the gift of more time together,~ Sucre sighed happily, before their sparks drifted into the blissful haze of a long, slow merge.

After the overload, they wrapped their arms around each other and held tight into recharge. 

* * *

Whiplash stood outside the Prime's Residence doors, looking up at the massive entryway as the guards opened it for him without hesitation. He'd decided to introduce himself more formally than usual to this Prime. He hadn't been here for the Prime's early orns and didn't know how he would respond to a sudden, unknown presence. In the back of his processor, almost subconscious, he also knew his caution came from still feeling just a touch unsteady in his command and control of his realm. He wasn't actually any less in control than the decaorn before he'd removed Nova and he knew it, there wasn't a hint of rebellion or dissidence to his command, but it didn't change the fact that it hadn't been in the hands he'd left it in and he felt the time too keenly still.

With a deep draw and vent of air he entered the Prime's Residence and headed for where he knew this Prime preferred to wind down after his orn. It was a wonderful hint at his personality right now. A library was not a place for raucous parties, for interfacing or for violence. It was a place for quiet, for reading and thinking and sipping fine energon or oil.

When he approached the great door slip open for him and he made a point to make his approach audible. "My Lord Prime," he spoke as soon as the door was fully open.

"Whiplash, come in," Sentinel greeted. His voice was warm, calm. His tone didn't have the seductive purr that Nova's always had, but instead felt open and honest. "I was wondering when I would see you again." 

"I wished to get up to speed before introducing myself properly, my Prime," Whiplash walked in and set the new arrangement of furniture and art in the library of the Prime's Residence in his processor. Of course he'd watched joors of vids, had schematics and even been here when the Prime wasn't, but this was his first visit with the room alive and he didn't fight the reflex. "I understand the acting Commander of ISO brought you up to speed in general."

"He did," Sentinel said. "He also told me you would be preparing to take over presently. Find a spot," he gave an unusual open invitation and slow wave of his hand to the space. "The energon is where it usually is."

Whiplash nodded and hid his relief, but not his thanks for the invitation. He gave himself a moment to decide by collecting a small cube of his preferred blend of solar and magma before going for it and leaping smoothly onto the table nearest the Prime. "Why don't we start with if you have any questions from your last briefing, or the meantime. About anything."

"Hmm, anything?" Sentinel asked, rubbing his chin with a smile. "I suppose I'll start with you ... How do you feel being back in command?" 

"Odd, to be honest. It's been no time at all for me, but over three centuries for Cybertron and my agents," Whiplash admitted the truth smoothly. "I'm settling back in fairly well. This isn't the first time, just the most traumatic."

"Do you enjoy your function, then?" Sentinel queried. 

"Very much," Whiplash knew his features softened a bit. "Not as much as my true function, the one I was called for, but this one is good. A little heavy on the admin, but training and seeing that the system works smoothly makes up for it. You don't last as long as I have if you don't enjoy your function."

Sentinel chuckled. "I suppose I could have answered that myself. What was your original function, then?" 

"Assassin," Whiplash answered just as easily.

"I'll keep that in mind," Sentinel hummed. "In your opinion, is there anything I should know about you or ISO that I might not already be aware of?"

Whiplash hummed. "We can't fix everything, but if you listen I will teach you everything you need to know to fix what you can. My oaths are to the Prime and my duty is to Cybertron. I knew that even before I knew what either meant."

"You are a loyal servant of Primus," Sentinel said, smiling. "I hope to bring the chaos that Nova and his successor left behind to heel. We've already started seeing some progress. You have an interesting perspective, however. How does the progress look to someone who has missed so much of the in-between?" 

"It's not as great as it could be, though the Senate bears much of that blame. Still, both you and my agents have done well given when you knew and had to work with. The move I would have focused on first is the one you seem to have as well. Resetting our borders is the most critical thing to be done," Whiplash said firmly. "I agree with the places you've set. Whose advice did you listen to when you decided?"

"Istma," Sentinel said, nodding. "He was a good commander." 

"Mmm, yes. He has a good processor for management," Whiplash agreed with a sip of energon.

"Do you have any questions for me?" Sentinel asked as he studied a mech he knew would always understate his power, and also stood as his only real connection to what he knew was an entire shadow empire operating parallel, yet always just a bit outside, his own. Though no one had even hinted at it, Sentinel Prime had no doubt that the final authority on Cybertron in matters of function and deactivation came in a sleek, matte black frame smaller than most femmes and older than most anything still walking around.

"How has adapting to your new frame and the Matrix been?" Whiplash asked with the harmonics of a caring creator.

"Harder than expected," Sentinel admitted. "The Primes before me never seemed to struggle so much. I like the frame, though, and it feels _right_. Just, big."

Whiplash smiled knowingly. "A new frame can be a trial to get used to. It's good it feels right. The rest will come with time. Let you in on a secret though," he leaned forward with a playfully conspiratorial tone. "All the Primes I've met had issues of some kind. Mostly getting used to the size. Or the upgraded social programming."

"That part isn't so bad," Sentinel chuckled. "But the frame, yes. And thank you. That's good to know. You've known the Primes well, then?" 

Whiplash nodded. "Except for the last one, I've personally known all of them since Alpha. Though I wasn't much back then, and it was a very different world too. There was no ISO. No Senate. No central government. The priesthood, and cities for that matter, were only just beginning to form in a way you'd recognize it. Most frametypes it would be difficult to imagine Cybertron without hadn't been created yet. I have the memories of my creator, my commander, going back to early in Prima's time."

"How is it you were designed so well so long ago?" Sentinel asked, as he stood to come around and join Whiplash in a closer chair. 

"I wasn't. This frame is just the latest rebuild I've had. Hardware has changed more than I can rightly express since then," Whiplash answered honestly. "I don't know how it works for kindled mecha, but for those of us who were called directly to a frame it's all about how well one's spark and coding get along. There aren't a handful of sparked mecha even a quarter my age that still love and want to help _this_ realm more than want to go home. It's all about the spark and how existence has treated it. I've been told a few times that the alignment between my function and my spark is impossibly perfect. I don't know if I agree with that, but I know the foundation of it is true."

Sentinel smiled. "I'm very happy to have you in my service, then," he said. "I need more mecha who know who they are and what they want." 

"You have the authority to make it far more common. But to do so you must control the Barasi, and through them the Archipresul," Whiplash said carefully. "They are the ones who call all sparks into a frame. If they call a spark correctly, very few sparked mecha will be at odds with their original function."

"Mm." Sentinel shrugged. "True. Though that seems like an excessive amount of energy just for some pre-progs' happiness."

"How else is there to gain more mecha who know who they are and what they want?" Whiplash cocked his helm and very carefully hid how his spark sank. This Prime would at least never fool him. For that he was grateful.

"By bringing them up from sparklinghood with the confidence and assurance that they can do anything," Sentinel said. "I have come to realize the problem rests more with the lack of opportunity for those families who want to create, and then those sparklings suffer from it. I'm already looking into programs to help the newly-kindled." 

Whiplash nodded. "I have long kept records on programs, charities and businesses. Both those that promote Cybertron's general welfare and those that are corrupt to the point of no longer helping, if you would like that information."

"I would, thank you," Sentinel said. "I'm glad you will be serving me, Whiplash. You seem to be highly capable."

"Thank you, my Prime. I intend to continue to be so," Whiplash smiled slightly and felt himself settle better than ever before into knowing what this Prime would be to Cybertron, and how it would end.

He wouldn't even need to do anything. Just wait until that end, and then he would make sure Cybertron finally got a _real_ Prime.

* * *

Sometimes, if Whiplash thought about it too hard, he found it a little distressing how quickly and easily he'd been able to settle back into life as normal after missing three centuries of it. It made sense, given how long he'd been serving as Commander, but that only served to remind him of how long he'd been waiting for a Prime. He'd thought it was Nova, for a time, before that had all shattered.

"This is boring," his trainee complained.

"Then you'll just have to keep doing it until it isn't boring," Whiplash said, resetting the sim. "Start over."

"Ugh!" The youth, barely four centuries old, grumbled about the defensive routines but for once actually stepped into them without much protest.

He made Whiplash feel _ancient._ Though, Whiplash thought with a chuckle that was carefully hidden behind his hand, his lover did that on an ornly basis well enough already. It was just with Sucre he couldn't mind, and sometimes the new recruits seemed to exist just to vex him. 

Still, if he could bring out what he saw in this trainee ISO would have one of the finest commanders ever seen. He might even become good enough for Whiplash to step down and back into the role he'd been called for.

The door pinged and Whiplash motioned for the grumbling trainee to continue with the sim as he slipped back to answer.

That Sucre's face could still sometimes make his spark flutter, he realized when he opened the door enough to look out, did help make up for feeling ancient. "Hey."

Sucre's smile was far too knowing. "Hey. Have a moment, or are you too busy?"

Whiplash glanced over his shoulder and gave the youth a critical look before deciding. "I have a moment." He snuck a quick kiss before turning back around. "Keep working on this sim. I'll be back in a joor or three."

"But--!"

"When the sim finishes, start it over," Whiplash said. "If I like what I see when I'm back, you can be done for the orn. If I don't, you'll be doing this until I get bored of watching you, and believe me, Jazz, that will take a very long time."

"Fussy," Sucre giggled when Whiplash slipped out with him. 

"Hardly," Whiplash smirked and caught another kiss as they headed for a nearby rest chamber. "But no more talk of my work. Does this mean your application was accepted?"

Sucre nodded, never letting go of Whiplash's hand as he palmed open the door, then drew him inside and locked it. "Senator Modula is expecting his first creation's new courtesan to arrive in the morning."

"So with shuttle time to Kaon--"

"Leaving in seven joors," Sucre said, and kissed him. "I have an appointment for the body work in three."

"Mm," Whiplash silenced them both with a kiss than was more out of familiarity with loss than actual fear.

"I'll be safe," Sucre promised as their lip plates parted. He backed Whiplash up against the wall. "Assassinating Senators is the easy part now. Now, enough talk about _my_ work." 

"Want your spark, and anything you desire," Whiplash moaned into the welcome contact and field.

Sucre's mouth met his and Whiplash melted into the kiss as hands ran down his chest. The light from their sparks brightened the otherwise dark room as they melded together.

~You're my other half,~ Sucre said as much between their sparks as whispered between their frames.

~You are mine. My other half. My balance. My stability. My sanity.~ Whiplash's spark reveled in the unity.

Sucre's pulsed back. ~Always and forever, 'Til All Are One.~

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom: Transformers G1  
> Author: gatekat, Verilidaine on LJ  
> Pairings: Nova Prime/Whiplash, Sucre/Whiplash  
> Characters: Nova Prime, Whiplash (OC), Sucre (OC)  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Codes: Death, Murder, Betrayal, Drugs, Sticky Sex, Spark Sex,  
> Summary: In the long and messy path through Nova Prime's long and energon-soaked reign, an ancient servant takes the duties of his post a little too seriously for his own good. Or the story of how Whiplash and Sucre became lovers.
> 
> Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page <http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html>. We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read. 
> 
> nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
> klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
> breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
> groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
> joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
> orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
> decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
> metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
> vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
> ::text:: comm chatter  
> ~text~ hardline/bond chatter


End file.
